What do we say about coincidence?
by huumanerror
Summary: Couple months ago Sherlock Holmes faked his own death in order to save his friends and left London to find and eliminate Moriarty's network. During his chase he stops in Budapest to solve a random case and is surprised by the person from his past. But is their meeting a complete coincidence, or is there a reason for waking up the ghosts of the past?
1. Chapter 1

Hi everyone! So this is my very first story, because season four is coming and I was rewatching Sherlock again (or, more specifically, The Scandal in Belgravia) and I really needed more Adlock in my life, so here it is! Try to be understanding, as I've never written anything like this before! I've already written all chapters, so updates should be quite regular! I hope you'll enjoy this and have fun reading!

 _Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, everything is based on BBC's Sherlock_

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Chapter 1

Somehow, in between searching for Moriarty's network and solving accidental crimes in different European cities, Sherlock Holmes found himself in Budapest, feeling irritated and stuck in a case he couldn't solve. It'd been only 24 hours since he'd managed to convince the whole police department to let him just _help_ , by revealing all the delicate and private secrets in less than a minute, but it had already been too long for him. He might have been dead but, after all, he was still the great Sherlock Holmes, the only one consultant detective in the world and even he needed some entertainment from time to time. Feeling helpless and _stupid_ wasn't funny at all.

Speaking of death, it felt surprisingly good and refreshing, although sometimes he caught himself remembering good, old times, his flat at 221B Baker Street, the rush of London's streets and the thrill of the new adventure. Sometimes he even _missed_ his dear friend, John Watson. He'd never expected he would ever be capable of such feelings. People usually meant nothing more to him than bones, skin, blood and brain, which most of them seemed to lack. He had been taught, not by his parents, but older brother, that caring about others was one of the biggest disadvantages of human nature. But John, John also had a heart and although he'd never managed to find out whether Sherlock had one on his own, the brilliant detective somehow admired it - the ability to care, to feel, not to be afraid of losing his greatness due to any emotions. Deeper, more personal feelings still were a weakness for him. Love and sentiment were just a chemical defect, the error of human nature. All that mattered was his brain, untouched by the weak nature of love, affection, passion, desire and, what went along with that, pain and sentiment that would make all of his walls he'd been building up for years go down. He didn't want to risk, but hadn't he done it already? The day he'd decided to share a flat with John and take him to the crime scene he'd made a commitment and a friend, of whom he'd cared about since then. As Moriarty had pointed out, John, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and even Molly, who'd helped him survive the fall, they all had mattered to him in some way and they'd never made him weak. When he was thinking about it that way, he saw himself as a hypocrite. He'd never loved anyone, not in a romantic way and he'd never felt the need to love, just as he'd never felt the need to have friends. But then they'd come, unexpected and uninvited and changed his life, even a little bit. That didn't mean he lost himself in his feelings for those people, so maybe with love it would be just the same? Sherlock didn't really want to think about it, it was stupid and he knew what love did to people. He could live without John by his side for a couple of months now, but would he survive a broken heart?

He knew the time would come, sooner or later. He couldn't be dead _forever_ , there were murderers to catch and cases to solve. England needed its detective just as much as he needed his country. But the time hadn't come yet and he surely wasn't going to rush things. Right now, he tried to focus on the case, before he would have to leave Budapest and follow Moriarty's network. He knew exactly where they were heading and what they were planning and decided that he could use a break and make them feel more confident, before eliminating them once and for all. Solving a case in a busy, Hungarian city seemed like a good idea to do so.

Holmes took his violin and stood by the window, looking at covered in snow streets of Budapest. He started playing the melody, but felt like his hands, without him having any control, played the song for him. The detective closed his eyes and let the notes run through his body to the very end of his fingers, he let it fill the air in the room with a gentle sound, which brought back the memory of a well-known smell and deep, female voice, that often spoke to him in his mind. He knew the melody so well and although the song itself was quite sad and nostalgic, the man smiled, as he opened his eyes and watched the stars showing on the dark, night sky in the New Year's Eve and thought about the time this melody had meant a lot. It was a reminiscence of a great mind, someone who was _almost_ as good as he, though he would never admit it to anyone. The memory of a woman, _the woman_ , who'd brought the whole England to its knees and truly impressed the great detective. After all these years saying her name out loud still felt quite weird, Sherlock wasn't used to it, but he liked the sound and the bitter taste of wine it had left on his lips. After all those years, sometimes he still sat with his eyes closed, thinking about the past and, more specifically, thinking about her. He also still had her phone, hidden in a pocket of his coat. It was probably the only thing he'd taken from his flat before the unfortunate events on the roof of the St Bart's hospital. Irene Adler was special for him and sometimes he was close to thinking that both John and his brother had been right. But then, again, his mind was all he had and he didn't want to risk all of it for something that was still a great mystery to him. The one he couldn't and didn't want to solve. Even though, in the past, he'd gotten a taste of it, he was aware that chances of this happening again are low. But did it make him sad? Did he want to see her again, hear her voice, not as a distant sound coming from the inside of his brain, but real and live voice of the one woman that occupied his mind more often than anyone had ever done before? The answer wasn't so simple, even for Sherlock Holmes, the man who knew answers to all the possible questions. Maybe in all those years when he'd been trying to find out the truth about anyone else, he'd forgotten to sacrifice some time to get to know himself?

Soon he realised he was no longer focusing his mind on the case. He let it drift far away from the streets of Budapest, from a mysterious murder, from Moriarty's network and his own death, so he decided to take a walk instead, just to breathe some fresh air and clear his mind from all the thoughts he had. It was great being a genius, but even for him sometimes his head was a real burden. He had to admit, it was different, maybe even more difficult, to solve crimes without having John by his side. Even though his mind wasn't that bright and, after all, was kind of limited if it was about observing and noticing things, the presence of Watson in some way inspired him to do better. Obviously, John wasn't Ms Adler and Sherlock had never wanted to impress him as he, subconsciously, had wanted to impress her, but having someone admiring his work had made it more exciting. He'd already forgotten how it had felt to be completely alone and although having some 'time off' from his regular life in London felt great, that particular night he felt distracted, like there was _something_ in the air...

After he'd put the violin in the case and put his timeless coat and scarf on, he left the hotel room and headed towards elevators. With annoying music playing inside, he tried once again to bring his mind back to the case, but in this environment it seemed pointless, so he just waited till the door would open and he would be able to get out of the building.

Sherlock felt it right after he left the lift, before he even managed to go into the hotel lobby. The smell of well-known female perfume tickled his nose, as he inhaled deeply, for a moment closing his eyes and having a feeling that it wasn't just a coincidence that one of the guests, whose noise came to him from the distant restaurant where apparently people were celebrating the New Year's Eve, had the same perfume. It brought back unwanted memories and _something more_ , a feeling that he didn't really want to think about right now. He had more important things that should occupy his mind and he wasn't in the moo –

'Well, well, well' the deep, female voice struck him from behind, breaking the chain of his thoughts and the man stopped himself in the middle of the hall, looking towards glass door in front of him. The lobby was lighted only by a few lamps hung on the walls, but most of it was covered in the darkness. He recognised the voice just as he recognised the perfume, but he would have never expected to meet her. Not here. Not know 'Isn't it the great Sherlock Holmes?' the woman asked and Sherlock could tell she was smiling, as he turned around and saw her slim figure walking slowly towards him. The sound of her heels on lobby floor seemed so loud among the quiet of the night. She was dressed in a simple, black, slinky dress, with long, brown curls falling softly on her bare shoulders. The women stopped close to him, but still keeping a reasonable distance between them, with a gentle, almost invisible smile on her lips and her blue eyes observing him carefully.

'Ms Adler, what are you doing here?' Sherlock asked in a cold, emotionless voice, as he looked straight into her eyes. It felt strange seeing her after a long time, after saving her life in Karachi and then leaving, to live their separate lives. He was pretty sure her presence there wasn't a coincidence, but somehow he knew she was the only person that could ever surprise him, although he would never admit it to anyone. She'd done it before, she'd amazed him with her intelligence and cleverness and, somehow, that really seemed to matter to him, as he really valued the mind like hers.

'What a nice, warm greeting, Mr Holmes. I'm flattered' she answered in a mocking voice, with a smile on her red lips 'I'm visiting a friend' Irene added after a short second, apparently having something more on mind.

'We're not friends. We've never been'

'Oh no, Sherlock, don't be so confident. I wasn't talking about you' she smacked her lips as she would be talking to a child 'But what a marvellous coincidence, don't you think?' Irene widened her smile, making one step closer towards the man.

'I highly doubt it' he knew she was slowly invading his personal space, but didn't move and didn't let her know it affected him in any way. Because it didn't or at least that was what he was telling himself.

'Don't tell me you're not happy to see me, Mr Holmes. It's been a long time since we-'

'Yes, I remember' he interrupted her not wanting to go into details of their last meeting in Karachi. He'd never told anyone, not even John, about saving her and what happened _after_. Especially about that. Irene just laughed and he could notice this specific spark in her eyes.

'Anyway, how's being dead going?' she tilt her head a little bit to the right to express her curiosity. Irene Adler wasn't sure how she felt about the meeting. It'd been years since they saw each other, but she hadn't forgotten him even for a one day. An extraordinary woman of even more extraordinary profession had had in her life many partners of different sex, but none of them had been really worth remembering. They'd always been just clients, people who came and went, left her money and some precious information that made her even more valuable in some communities. Sherlock Holmes was special for her, with his mind, but also his attitude, his cold heart and the sacrifice he'd made to save her from terrorists. She'd wanted that meeting. If she hadn't, she would've never followed his tracks, waiting for their paths to cross in a weird _coincidence_. She also remembered the last time, how could she ever forget. She'd wanted it since they first met, not in terms of love or any other, more complicated feeling. Of these she knew he wouldn't have been capable and, if it was about her, she wasn't sure about that either. She'd loved someone once, a long time ago, but this person had hurt her so much that she closed herself to any possible emotion. She created the new Irene Adler, the dominatrix, the woman, who could have everything and everyone she'd ever wanted, who controlled the situation so she would never get hurt again. And when she couldn't have Sherlock, or at least when it wasn't that simple to get him and required some more sacrifice and attention, she felt frustrated. Irene Adler didn't believe in love, maybe even more than Sherlock himself, but for the whole lot of different reasons. She'd wanted to beat him, to challenge him, to show him that he, just as any other person, had some hidden desires, but she'd never wanted them to commit to any kind of relationship. Had she managed to impress him in a way that had included not only her mind? She wasn't sure, you could never be sure about anything if it was about Sherlock Holmes and so she didn't know if he'd enjoyed their last meeting as much as she had. She'd always thought that there was no such thing as too much, but seeing him again made her feel like maybe that one time she'd definitely crossed the line.

'Fine. _Boring_ ' the man answered, trying not to involve too much into a conversation. His thoughts at that moment were very similar to Irene's ones. Just as she wasn't sure about his feelings about this experience, he wasn't sure about them either. He'd never really tried to deal with it or think about it after she'd been gone and he'd come back to London, to his regular, daily lifestyle. It'd been like he had built a wall around all that concerned this one night after saving her and decided to forget about it, in case it could have brought any troubles. Sherlock had never let himself enjoy anything other than solving crimes and humiliating people, any other pleasure had simply been unknown and hostile to him. After that he'd only asked himself one question. Why had he done it? Why had he stayed with her that night in a hotel room, why had he let her kiss him, with her lips tasting like wine she'd just been drinking? He didn't know, even now, when he asked himself the same questions again and again, he didn't know the answer. There was something about her that made him feel like a moth lured by the light of a candle. She was trouble, she was the only person, after Moriarty, that could ever really destroy all that he'd been working for. And there she was, standing right in front of him, looking absolutely stunning and beautiful. He couldn't hide from himself that he was thinking about her the whole time and that, for him, she was always _the woman_ , the only woman who had ever meant anything to him. Not necessarily in terms of any deeper emotions. She had a great mind, she was smart and brilliant and that had always impressed him, because he hadn't met many people of such great intellect. And that, coming from Sherlock Holmes himself, was quite a thing, as he considered her almost equal to him.

'Well' she smiled and made another step, with only millimetres separating them from each other. He could feel her warm breath on his face, as she put her hand on his chest and slid it down to unbutton his jacket 'I can help with that' she whispered, moving her face towards his so close that their lips almost touched. Sherlock opened his mouth, but for a second he couldn't get any sound out of it, not knowing what exactly was happening.

'I'm afraid I need to decline your offer' he moved a step back and buttoned his jacket.

'You haven't changed, but we'll get to this... later' she raised her head to look at him and with a mysterious smile she winked at him.

'There is not going to be any _later_ '

'No?' Irene sounded disappointed, but the detective knew it was only a game. With her it was always just a game 'I was going to ask you for a dinner. It's New Year, after all. We should celebrate'

'I thought you were meeting a friend' he didn't know if he wanted to have a dinner with her. Or rather, he didn't know if it was a good idea to have a dinner with Irene Adler, knowing what effect she could have on him.

'I am. Well, I was. So? Will you have dinner with me, Mr Holmes?' suddenly her voice sounded strong and official, way different from the mocking, teasing and somehow sensual voice she'd used before.

'It's late, everything is probably closed' he tried to resist her, forgetting about the fact it was New Year's Eve and people were going to celebrate the whole night. At the same time he knew she would never give up. She was stubborn, just as he was. Maybe, after all, they both had more in common than he'd ever suspected?

'Come on, Sherlock. You know I know places. Or, more specifically, I know _people_ '

'You mean you know what they like' he corrected her almost immediately, what brought a wide smile on her lips.

'You know me so well, Mr Holmes. You impress me more and more every time' Sherlock knew she was also referring to their last, quite intense, meeting, but he wasn't going to comment on it.

'Fine' he agreed after a long second 'After you' he pointed the door and followed her into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

They were sitting in an empty restaurant on top of the highest building in Budapest, with an amazing view at the city. It was around midnight, they'd finished their dinner already and now the sky was lighted by colourful fireworks. The restaurant was closed for ordinary guests, but Irene Adler definitely was not an ordinary person, just as the man sitting in front of her by the table with a single candle and glasses filled with red wine.

'So tell me, why are you here?' Sherlock couldn't resist finding the truth, although he suspected he knew the answer.

'I've already told you. I was meeting a friend' Irene looked into his eyes, making circles on top of her glass with her finger.

'What kind of friend?'

'You know what kind of friend'

'So you're still in the business?' he wasn't sure why this information affected him. He didn't care. Their lives weren't connected in any way, after this evening he would probably never see her again and she could do with her life whatever she wanted.

'A girl has to earn her living somehow' she smiled as she saw in his eyes that he didn't necessarily like the idea 'Why? Would you like to use my service?' she grinned, trying to figure out his reaction, but his eyes were cold just as his voice and she had problems with reading his mind. It wasn't so easy, although she'd practiced on other people, she still couldn't read Sherlock Holmes. Knowing he had the same problem with her somehow made them even.

'Don't be silly. You know I-'

'You liked it, Sherlock. Admit it' Irene interrupted him, looking straight into his eyes. He could hear her dominant, strong voice, but he didn't know how to reply. Did he? Or did he not? 'You're just afraid that this will mess your whole life, that you'll no longer be the great, brilliant detective. But you also know it's not true. We still have time, imagine how much fun we could have tonight'

'Is that why you're here?' he asked, as he started getting angry. He was a great detective and he definitely wasn't afraid of anything. This was the one think he didn't want to let her undermine.

'What?' she seemed truly surprised by his question

'To go to bed with me. Is this what you want?'

'Dear God, Sherlock. Who's silly know? If I wanted to have sex with someone, I would surely have no problem with finding a volunteer. There are people willing to pay for spending the night with me. And you, let's be honest, are not the _best_ man I've ever slept with' she answered, although she knew the one night they had was quite impressive.

'Then why are you here, Ms Adler?' Sherlock was desperate to know, because that was what his nature was. He liked to know things, and when he didn't know, he wanted to do everything it took to get to know the truth. Partially that's why he'd shut himself to the experience with Irene. It'd been too difficult for him to understand what he'd felt, so he'd decided to forget about it and act as if it'd never happened.

'I just wanted to see an old friend, catch up on what's going on in your life. I'm happy to see you don't look as dead as I expected you to' she took a sip of wine, still having her eyes on him.

'So you admit you were following me?'

'Of course I was. Well, my people, to be more specific. By the way, how's John doing? It must've been hard for him to stay away from you for such a long time knowing you're still alive. You were such a nice couple...'

'John doesn't know I'm alive. And I prefer it stayed this way' Sherlock wasn't surprised she'd followed his tracks, as he'd done the same thing with her. For all these years he'd known exactly where she'd been and what she'd been doing. That was why he was surprised by her presence in the hotel lobby. She was supposed to be somewhere else.

'Oh, Sherlock... You're a really naughty boy' Irene said with a wide smile and a deep, intense voice, as she finished her wine and rested her head on her hand 'I've never really asked you, what are you doing in Budapest?' Irene looked straight into his eyes. For the whole evening they'd been exactly the same. Emotionless and cold, looking at her like her presence didn't mean anything to him. Well, maybe it didn't?

'I suppose you already know, Ms Adler. Tell me' Sherlock returned the look, suddenly deciding to play with her and actually say something more, than curt answers to her questions. He tried to keep the distance between them, but it was so _boring._

'Sure I know, but for once I want to hear you talking. You have such a pleasant voice, Mr Holmes. Has anyone ever told you that?' she reached her hand and gently touched his, moving her fingers softly across his warm skin. Sherlock looked at their hands for a short second, and then into her eyes, to see the same spark he'd seen this one time in his flat at Baker Street. This time he couldn't take her pulse, it would've been too obvious, but he saw her dilated pupils and he could tell it was elevated. He didn't take his hand, her touch made him feel something, a delicate warmth spreading across his body, so without even thinking about it he let himself enjoy it.

'I'm working on a case'

'What case?' her question made him sigh, before he decided to answer it.

'Three women, stabbed right into their hearts with a kitchen knife. No finger prints, no connection between victims, no evidence of a break-in'

'So they let him in, obviously. But there must be some kind of connection, there always is'

'Not this time, three ordinary women killed by the same person, but there's nothing that could link them together' Sherlock felt like he was exposing his weakness in front of someone who knew exactly how to use it. It was dangerous for him, he was risking everything, but at the same time he had a feeling she could help him. For the first time in his life he needed a second brain just as good as his own.

'You have a problem, don't you? It frustrates you that you can't find anything.' She must have admitted, it was fun to watch Sherlock struggling over a case, but at the same time she wanted to help him. Or maybe it wasn't as much about helping as it was about showing off her brilliant skills.

'Yes' the detective admitted, and his answer shocked him. The woman laughed shortly and stood from her seat, making her way to the detective. Sherlock turned in his chair to look at her, but before he managed to react in any way, she sat on his lap, with a mystery written all over her face. Sherlock's body stiffened suddenly, as he felt her weight, but he didn't move.

'I will help you' she whispered right into his hear, even though there was no one around.

'What makes you think you can help me?' Holmes whispered back, making a short break between words, still feeling her warm breath on his ear. Irene smiled in the answer to his question and gently ran her hand through his hair, before she stood up.

'Great minds think alike. Now, try to focus and tell me everything about these women' Sherlock knew he couldn't focus, not when she was around. He knew it was a mistake, coming here, telling her about the case, thinking about what had happened in the past. His mind wasn't working the way he wanted it to, and Irene Adler could notice it 'Are you having any troubles with that, Mr Holmes' she was clever, she knew that she could influence his behaviour and that, somehow, she had power over great Sherlock Holmes. But he wasn't going to let her ruin everything. It was his game and he was going to be the winner.

'No, not at all, Ms Adler' he answered, looking at the woman standing in front of him. And then, on one breath, he told her every single detail about the victims, including the fact that all of them came from different European countries and none of them was permanently living in Budapest.

Irene Adler stood by the window, looking at streets of Budapest, which were slowly becoming more quiet after the night of celebrating New Year. Couple minutes had passed before she spoke again.

'You said there was no connection between them, but there is one. The thing that binds them together also separates them...' the woman smiled to herself, still not looking at Sherlock, who was observing her all the time, trying to once again go through all the details he knew.

'Of course! They are from different cities, they've not been in Budapest for a long time... If the time of their arriving here is somehow reflected in the time that separates their deaths, it might be some ritual crime, some kind of an international sect. If so, soon we will find the fourth body and it might be a ritual suicide...' Sherlock got all excited about solving the puzzle. It seemed so easy, now that he had the answer he needed and he felt stupid for not coming up with it earlier. Irene turned around and watched his glowing eyes. Suddenly, he stood up from his chair, putting his coat on 'I need to go tell this morons I get this...'

'Not so fast, Mr Holmes' calm voice stopped him halfway to the entrance. He turned to look at the woman, who now was standing right in front of him. 'We haven't finished our evening yet. You won't find the murderer, not until he'll kill himself, so there's no rush. What would you say for a walk, Mr Holmes?' she asked, but he knew there was no way to decline this, so without even trying he nodded and followed her to the entrance.

It was quite a cold, January night. The streets were finally quiet after celebrating the New Year's Eve and it was snowing again.

'Thank you' after a couple minutes of walk Sherlock finally broke the silence, without looking at the woman walking next to him. She looked at the man quite surprised with this sudden, unexpected words.

'My pleasure. Can I get my prize now?' a teasing smile appeared on her lips, when she saw the confusion on Sherlock's face.

'What prize?

'I helped you with your case, shouldn't I get something in return?'

'We haven't solved it yet, it's just an assumption'

'Something is better than nothing, isn't it?' Sherlock only sighed, taking his eyes off Irene.

'You're good, has anyone ever told you that?'

'Yes. You' Irene stopped and looked into his eyes, knowing right away that he'd actually mean what he'd just said 'But that's not enough, I would expect something more from you'

'Mh-hm' Sherlock just mumbled and carried on walking towards the hotel he was staying in, thinking about the whole evening and how he felt about the presence of Irene Adler. She distracted him, but at the same time she also challenged and pushed him to do more. She was like this better, more intelligent and definitely more attractive female version of John, although the last feature for Sherlock wasn't that important.

Next couple minutes passed in complete silence, while they both were lost deep into their own thoughts. Suddenly, Sherlock noticed Irene was wearing only her dress, with no coat on it. He hadn't paid any attention to this before, as they had come to the restaurant in a cab, but now she was evidently shaking.

'You're cold' he noticed with neutral voice, turning his eyes from her and following the falling snowflakes with his sight.

'Yes, that's the job. You can't really let yourself be all nice and war-'

'No, you're not wearing any coat. You're cold' he interrupted her and without hesitating he took his coat off and put it around her shoulders. While doing this his hands gently slid down her shoulders and he remembered himself the last time he touched her. The whole evening he tried to keep himself calm and distant, not letting any unwanted emotions to take over his brilliant mind. He tried to read her; he tried to find out something, _anything_ about her life. But just like the first time, there was a wall around her and he could only see the surface, parts of her she wanted him to see. It frustrated him, she was the only person he couldn't analyse and it drove him crazy, but in some way it also impressed him. It attracted him, as she was the mystery for solving he was willing to give up everything. It wasn't about her appearance, although he had to admit she looked beautiful with her bright, clever eyes and brown, long hair. But it was more than that; it was her mind that really amazed him, because she was the challenge that, as he'd had the opportunity to realize before, made him feel alive.

'Thank you' she answered without looking at him and wrapped the coat around her small, slim body, to make herself feel warm.

The rest of the walk passed in silence and suddenly they found themselves in front of the hotel, standing in the point where they both had to say final goodbyes and didn't know when or if they would see each other again.

'Well, that's that, Mr Holmes' Irene smiled, taking his coat off and giving it back to the detective 'Thank you for the very pleasant evening' she moved closer, this time stopping directly only with millimetres separating them from each other.

'You're welcome' Sherlock answered, looking at her and suddenly feeling like slowly all his walls were coming down, as he finally let himself feel _something_. But it didn't feel wrong. It felt just right, he still felt himself. He knew he still had his mind, he still was a brilliant detective with the greatest mind on Earth, but he also felt something other than that, right where his heart supposed to be. It wasn't love, or maybe it was? He didn't know, as he'd never felt anything like this before so he had nothing to compare it to, but he could tell for sure it was curiosity, he was impressed by the beautiful woman standing in front of him, with her perfume and sweet breath warming his cold cheeks.

'I'm really glad your fall didn't destroy those cheekbones. It would be a real shame' she said, as she moved even closer and gently touched his cheek with her long, soft finger. Sherlock could feel her lips on his while she was talking, but it still wasn't a kiss. And he still didn't know whether he wanted it to happen or not. It had been Mycroft who'd always been telling him that feelings are dangerous and that he should have gotten rid of them, but maybe, just maybe, for the first time he'd been wrong about that? After all, Mycroft had been describing something he'd never personally experienced, just as Sherlock had been doing for his whole life. If he had been able to love John and care about him as a friend, maybe he could have also loved someone in a different way? 'Goodnight, Mr Sherlock Holmes' Irene whispered, and suddenly turned around to walk towards the sleeping and quiet town, leaving Sherlock somehow disappointed. Feeling a sudden strike of an impulse, Sherlock grabbed her wrist and stopped her from moving any further.

'We're not quite done yet, Ms Adler' he said with a soft smile as he pulled her closer in an unexpected gesture and pressed his lips against hers, wrapping his arms around her waist.

'I told you we would get to this, Mr Holmes' Irene broke their kiss for a second, looking deep into his shining eyes and knowing for sure what he was thinking about.

'Oh, do shut up, Ms Adler' Sherlock whispered back right into her mouth, before he pulled her closer and kissed her again, this time way more passionately. He felt more human than ever before, but for once humanity didn't seem to be that bad.


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm so bad at being systematic, really! To be honest, I didn't think anyone was reading this, so after some time of not posting anything I couldn't be bothered anymore. Anyway, as I mentioned before I have all chapters finished and since someone actually is reading this (thank you thank you and I'm sorry for not posting anything for almost a month!) I'm going to finish this and, actually, I've got the idea for the new one. The new semester starts tomorrow for me, so there's a great opportunity to start writing something new! Anyway, enjoy the new chapter, it's quite short, but I promise there is something more to wait for! Oh, and also you can thank Mr Moffat and Gatiss for the newest episode and making me want to finish this! I'm still in shock and I definitely need a blanket, but I'm also sure we'll get to see some Adlock soon! Yeah, once again, enjoy and stay tuned!_

Chapter 3

Irene opened slowly her eyes, woken up by the bright, morning light coming through her eyelids. She winked couple of times, trying to adjust her sight to the brightness shining through a hotel window. Finally, after taking some minutes to completely woke up from what seemed like one of the best sleeps she'd had in a long time, she looked around the room, trying to find any signs of the presence of Sherlock Holmes. She wasn't surprised that everything around was dead quite, undisturbed by even the slightest noise of footsteps on the hotel floor. She also wasn't surprised by the fact that she'd just woken up completely alone in a big, warm bed, covered with white sheets that made her feel really warm. The woman sat in bed and touched the pillow next to her own, not knowing exactly what she expected. It was cold, so Sherlock had either been gone for quite a long time or he hadn't even slept in bed with her, what for her seemed quite possible. She didn't expect him to. It had been a long time since she'd actually slept in bed with the other person who would have woken up next to her the next morning. She'd forgotten how it was to be close with someone not only in strictly sexual way. It seemed so boring, waking up every day next to the same person, eating breakfast, lunch and dinner together, going to sleep just to start the next day in exact the same way. She'd gotten used to the life of an independent woman and although, for most of the time, she was alone, she never felt really lonely. That morning, sitting in an empty bed in a strange city, for the first time Irene Adler thought that it would be nice not to be alone. She shook her head to get rid of that thought. People limited her, she didn't need anyone in her life, she was happy the way things were and she was completely self-sufficient. Or at least that what she was telling herself.

The woman stood up from bed, putting her bare feet on cold, wooden floor. Shivers ran through her spine, as she walked across the room to take Sherlock's robe and put it on her naked body. It smelled just as she remembered it and for a second she closed her eyes, enjoying the smell of detective's perfume tickling gently her nose. Irene looked through the window on busy streets of Budapest. Apparently people weren't going to spend the first day of a new year doing completely nothing and she could totally understand that, as she was slowly getting bored in an empty, quiet room. She knew she could just leave, maybe leaving Sherlock a note, or simply disappearing without a word, just as he'd done this morning. But at the same time something kept her in this room and made her hope that he would be back any minute. With a deep sigh Irene turned around and noticed a tray with breakfast and coffeepot filled with dark, steaming liquid inside. On the small, white plate, there was a little piece of paper folded in half. She took it gently, expecting a note from the detective, but instead there were some kind words from hotel staff, wishing Mr Holmes a happy New Year and a good day in Budapest. Irene had no idea why she felt disappointed. After all, he was Sherlock Holmes, he couldn't have had any idea of how to behave after spending a night with a woman and she would have never expected from herself to feel in any way affected by his behaviour. After another deep sigh, this time expressing her disappointment with her own silly thoughts, she poured some coffee into a cup and sat back in bed, taking a book laying on the bedside table. Although the book itself was quite interesting, Irene had read it before, so she easily got bored. Again, she stood up from bed and walked to the big wardrobe. Inside she found an even line of different coloured shirts, black jackets and matching trousers. She slowly ran her hand through all the clothes, before she closed the door and headed towards the bathroom.

Irene laid down in a bath filled with hot, steaming water and closed her eyes, letting her mind drift away from all the unpleasant thoughts, focusing only on most recent events. Suddenly, she started thinking about last night. The night that hadn't supposed to mean anything. Although she was convinced that, since Sherlock had been the one who kissed her first and then taken her up to his room, he must have enjoyed her company, she was also sure that it would have never meant for him anything more than that. For him it might have been just a scientific experiment, an empirical way to examine the part of human nature that for a long time had been left unknown for the great detective. She didn't blame him for that, for most of her adult life she'd treated sex as a tool, she'd used it to make money and gain some power and any emotions had never been involved. Thanks to her unusual experience she understood this side of human nature probably more than anyone in the world, and certainly more than Sherlock himself. Physical pleasures were her speciality and Sherlock wasn't the first and probably the last who got enchanted by her specific personal charm. Nevertheless, something felt wrong about all of these. She wasn't sure if it was about her being disappointed with his absence, or maybe the fact that for a brief moment she actually felt something that had never been there before. The memory of last night left her something that she thought she wasn't able to feel anymore.

She had no idea how much time had passed when she heard the door opening and quiet footsteps filling the air of the room. A gentle smile appeared on her lips, when the footsteps were closer to the bathroom door and soon she saw Sherlock Holmes himself, looking at her with confusion written all over his face.

'You're still here' his voice was cold again, just as it'd been for the whole evening.

'Did you expect me to be gone?'

'No'

'So did you want be to be gone, then?' Irene smiled and stood up from the bath without any restrain, noticing that even for a second Sherlock's eyes didn't leave her face.

'No' the detective answered her question after a second of hesitation. He didn't sleep all night but for him it was nothing special. He'd used to do this from time to time when a case had required his full attention, but this time it wasn't about the case. He'd been laying in bed with his eyes open, waiting till Irene would have fallen asleep, so he could have gotten out of bed, sat in an armchair and watched her sleep. He hadn't been sure what to do about all of this, his head had been a mess and for the first time the great detective had felt really confused, about his all thoughts and feelings, which had never bothered him before. So he'd decided to do the only reasonable thing he'd been good at – work. He'd left the room when it was still dark outside and he'd gone to the police station just to go through all the case files one more time and distract himself from thinking about Irene Adler. Coming back to the hotel he'd hoped she would be gone by the time he got there, but at the same time Sherlock hadn't been completely sure he wanted her to be gone. Fortunately, seeing her laying in bath filled with hot water, he didn't have to think about it anymore.

Irene stepped out of the bath with a smile caused by his answer and stopped quite close to the detective, whose eyes were still fixed straight on her face.

'Don't you think it's inappropriate to stare like this, Mr Holmes?' the woman asked him with provocative expression in her eyes.

'Don't you think I've already seen all of this, Ms Adler?' Sherlock passed her soft, white towel and turned around to go back to the bedroom. She wrapped the towel around her body and followed him out of the bathroom. The whole situation for her was quite amusing, although she was curious about man's thought about her presence and the events of last night. He clearly was confused, trying to hide it from her and pretending like nothing had happened.

'Are you going out again?' Irene asked him when she saw the detective wrapping his scarf around his neck.

'Yes. I have work to do' without looking at her Sherlock made a few steps towards the door. She followed him and stood between him and the door, separating the man from the entrance.

'How's the case? Was I right?' she asked with her hands crossed on her chest. Sherlock sighed loudly, trying to avoid her eyes looking straight at him.

'I don't know, they haven't found the fourth body yet. But something's wrong here, it's too simple'

'Some things are just as simple as that...' Irene made a step closer and leaned in to him, trying to gently kiss his lips. Before she managed to do that Sherlock made a step back, clenching his teeth 'I'll go with you' the woman said after a short second of silence ignoring his sudden move, what managed to attract Sherlock's sight.

'What? No. You're not going anywhere with me. You're going to stay here and wait' Sherlock tried to sound calm, but it was hard for him to gather his thoughts and actually focus.

'So do you want to meet me later?' a wide smile appeared on Irene's lips, as she was standing still with her arms crossed and her eyes riveted in the detective's face.

'What are you... no, of course not, I don't care what you're going to do. Stay here, go somewhere, leave Budapest, but don't follow me and don't go with me anywhere' Sherlock tried to explain himself, but this only made Irene smile even more. He seemed so clumsy when he tried to hide his emotions and that amused her a lot.

'Oh come on, it'll be great. Don't tell me you don't miss having a companion?'

'No, I'm good on my own'

'Well, of course you are' she mumbled 'Fine, go' Irene said after a minute and moved away from the door, letting him out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

'Finally! I've been calling you a hundred times, where the hell have you been?!' the Hungarian detective shouted at Sherlock who was slowly approaching his team waiting outside the building.

'Busy, what's going on?'

'Well, we've found the fourth body and...'

'Yes, I know, I've heard your messages'

'Oh, okay. Also, there's this woman... she says she knows you' the detective inspector pointed at couple of men, but Sherlock couldn't see any woman among them.

'What woman?'

'She doesn't want to tell us her name, but she says she knows you' after one of the man moved out of Sherlock's sight, the detective saw the slim figure of brown-haired woman, who then turned around and smiled at him like it was completely normal that they were meeting next to the crime scene 'Do you know her?'

'No.' Sherlock answered and headed towards Irene. He clinched his fist around her wrist and dragged her away from police officers, who apparently were quite impressed with her presence.

'I knew you'd be pleased to see me' she whispered just before they stopped round the corner so no one could see them. Sherlock pushed her away a little too hard and eventually she gently hit the wall of the building behind her. That apparently didn't bother her at all, as she just smiled even more.

'What are you doing here' Sherlock snapped at her and moved closer to the woman.

'I thought you could use some help since there was the fourth body...'

'I asked you to stay away from the case' he shouted and hit the wall right next to her face. Irene seemed surprised with his sudden change of mood, as she'd never had the opportunity to see him angry before. He, on the other hand, had no idea why all of this made him so mad. He wasn't good at dealing with things that were unknown to him and her presence, the fact that they'd slept together last night and that he still didn't know how he felt about her made him build a self-defensive shield, that this time occurred as anger and violence towards the woman, who might have only suspected the reason behind his behaviour.

'No, you didn't ask me anything. You _told_ me not to follow you. Did you really expect me to listen to you?' she wasn't going to play the victim there, as she was sure that she could have some control over him. She didn't have to do much, her presence itself made him act differently and she could notice that when he squeezed her wrist painfully and pushed her towards the wall.

'What do you want from me?' Sherlock leaned in closer to Irene, looking straight into her eyes. He seemed mad and he also felt that way. Not only because she had this influence on him, but also because he didn't know how to control himself. He'd never felt so many things and when he looked at her, Sherlock had an impression like all those emotions culminated inside his mind, like they were about to explode and destroy everything around. Holmes wanted her to disappear from his life so, once again, he could be himself, the detective that everyone knew for his greatness. Not the mad man letting his feelings take over his brain.

'Think' the woman answered and pushed him away, walking back towards the crime scene.

'Where do you think you're going?'

'We have a mysterious crime to solve, Mr Holmes. No time to waste' she didn't stop and didn't turned around to look at him, knowing he would follow her anyway.

'No, we're not doing this' hearing his voice Irene sighed and turned towards him. She made a few steps closer to the man and gently brushed his cheek with her warm, delicate hand.

'Don't fight me, Sherlock. Cooperate. It turned out great last night, don't you think?' last few words she whispered into his ear with a wide smile on her lips. He could feel her warm breath on his skin and the smell of her perfume tickling his nose. Sherlock breathed in deeply, feeling somehow helpless in the face of her specific charm and he just couldn't help himself. But maybe, after all, it wasn't such a bad idea? Maybe she was manipulative, but she was also clever and intelligent and without a doubt she could, in some way, help him close this case and get rid of his frustration.

'Fine, but keep the distance from the body, be quiet and don't try to show off' Sherlock agreed with an annoyed voice.

'Good boy' Irene softly pecked his cheek with her lips and then walked away towards the crime scene. The detective sighed and not having any other choice followed her.

'What is going on, Mr Hegedűs? We've been waiting for you, there's been another murder, do you think it's appropriate to disappear so suddenly?' the DI shouted in Hungarian at Sherlock, who simply ignored him, heading straight to the flat of another victim 'And who is this woman? She's not allowed to be here, Mr Hegedűs!' the man was clearly angry at Sherlock, but the detective didn't seem to care.

'She's with me' he answered, climbing the stairs with Irene Adler following his steps.

'She can't be here! She's not...'

'Oh could you just shut up? I told you, she's with me. I'm not supposed to be here either and I highly doubt your supervisor knows I'm helping you, but here I am, doing your job because you and your stupid people can't handle something as simple as some murders! So just shut up and leave us alone!' Sherlock shouted at the detective, losing his temper over so limited brains of ordinary people. Sometimes he missed Lestrade to whom he'd gotten used to over the years of working with Scotland Yard. These people were driving him crazy even more than Irene was, but that feeling was familiar and completely natural for Sherlock Holmes. The Hungarian detective seemed offended, but said nothing. He waved at some people standing over the body of young female with a knife in her chest. The door closed behind them and Sherlock and Irene were left alone in a room with a fourth victim of a mysterious murderer.

'Mr Hegedűs?' she commented after a second of silence with a mocking voice, trying not to laugh. Sherlock looked at her from the floor, where he was examining the body.

'I'm undercover, news travels fast' he mumbled and got back to the victim. After a few minutes he stood up from the floor and looked at the woman expectantly, raising his eyebrows.

'What?'

'You wanted to get involved, this is your chance. Tell me what do you see, show me you're worth it' his voice, once again, was cold and very calm, nothing like the one he'd used before to shout at her or at the police officer. With his arms crossed, he moved a step back and observed her patiently.

'Well, she's probably around 30. Her make-up is pretty careless, which means that she's either been in hurry or she doesn't have much experience with it. I think the last one, since the colour of her foundation doesn't really match her real skin tone. She's not really affluent, although she tried to dress up in cheap clothes which were meant to resemble the high-end brands, so maybe she knew the murderer personally and was looking forward to meeting him, as she dressed up like this especially for him. Definitely not married, her fingers don't show any signs of a wedding ring. Her hands are quite neglected, so she may have been working as some kind of a physical worker, maybe a kitchen assistant or factory worker. On her inner thighs you can see some scars, she was cutting herself so evidently she had some personal problems, but she didn't cut her wrists, because there would be possibility of someone else seeing it and asking unnecessary questions. For me, she looks exactly like the person who would get involved in some kind of a sect' Irene stood up from the body and looked at Sherlock, awaiting his response.

'Pretty good' he said, trying not to show how impressed he really was. She was better than he expected her to be, but she still wasn't as good as he was, and that made him feel a little bit more comfortable.

'Pretty? What else would you expect me to say about this woman?' Irene seemed surprised by his response, she was amazing, she said everything and no other, ordinary person, would ever say anything more.

'Well, you missed one obvious thing' Sherlock stepped forward from the wall and kneeled down next to the body 'Her clothes are slightly ripped in some places. That didn't happen with previous victims, so she might have been fighting with her killer. What is more, if you look closely, there are small spots of blood on her teeth, but it's definitely not her blood as her lips don't look like they've been bleeding, so she probably bit the guy. When we were walking up there was also blood on the stairs. He would never bleed from a small bite, but maybe she'd managed to injure him more than that before he killed her...' the detective laid down on the floor and looked under the fridge and cupboards. The woman was watching him carefully, evidently interested and curious about what he was looking for 'Ha! There it is!' he shouted in excitement and took the napkin out of his coat's pocket. Then he stood up and showed Irene a small knife with some blood on it 'We've got something that distinguishes this murder form others and that, Ms Adler, is what I've been waiting for!' Irene smiled and moved closer to the man. She lift her chin and looked him in the eyes.

'I still mean what I said last time, Mr Holmes' she moved her sight to the wooden desk in the next room, and then back at the detective.

'Not now' he answered and opened the door to the flat to let the Hungarian detective in.

'He's wounded with a knife. Look in the nearest hospitals, if you don't find him, check the airport cameras from the day all the victims arrived to Budapest, someone must have picked them up. Either way, you'll find him soon'

'How... how can you be so sure, Mr Hegedűs?' the man looked at Sherlock, or rather at his back, as the detective was already walking down the stairs.

'I just am' he answered without stopping and turning to look at him. He left the building and headed towards the main street. After a few steps he stopped and turned around to face Irene Adler following him in silence 'Are you hungry?' Sherlock asked and looked at his watch. It was already 4 pm and he hadn't eaten anything since last night, as this morning he'd left without any breakfast.

'What?' Irene honestly didn't expect Sherlock to ask her this question, so she seemed surprised when he did.

'Oh come on, stop being so impressed every time I do something different than being myself. I asked if you were hungry, because I'm starving and we could go for a dinner together. So are you, or are you not, because I'm not going to waste any more time on you'

'Are you trying to ask me out for a date, Mr Holmes?'

'If I didn't know you better, I'd think you're really stupid. But, unfortunately, you're not. No, I'm not asking you for a _date_ , I'm asking you if you want to go for a dinner, like normal, ordinary people who are not a couple do' he was really irritated with her behaviour, as he asked her a simple question and, apparently, she couldn't just answer it, without mocking him and trying to make him uncomfortable.

'But we are not ordinary people' Irene smiled and crossed the arms on her chest. The detective only sighed loudly and turned around to walk away from her, not having enough patience to talk to her anymore. He was afraid he might lose his temper again, but at the same time he really wanted to get used to being near her without feeling unconscious and afraid of his own, now unpredictable, nature 'Where are you going, I thought we were going for a dinner?' she followed him until they drew level and she was walking next to him.

'Make up your mind, then' Sherlock answered and waved to stop a cab, without looking at the woman.

'What kind of name is Hegedűs anyway?' Irene asked looking at him over the plate and the glass of wine. They were sitting in a luxurious and probably quite expensive restaurant, that now was full of businessmen having their business dinners or simply enjoying their break from work in one of the glass skyscrapers in the modern, business district of Budapest.

'Hungarian' Sherlock tried not to stare at Irene Adler too often and for a long period of time, but honestly he just couldn't take his eyes off her. There was something in her majestic movements, the way she spoke, in her red lips stretching in a gentle smile from time to time, in her clever, blue eyes, which colour reminded him of the blue ocean or a sky in a clear day. He'd never paid any attention to things like that, but with Irene Adler everything seemed different. Today she'd impressed him with her observatory skills. It felt great knowing he had there someone who was almost equal to him and who actually was able to follow his thoughts, without him having to explain everything. With John it'd always been annoying, but Irene either completely understood him or was too proud to ask. Either way, Sherlock appreciated this and he certainly noticed that she'd changed since their first meeting back in London.

'You know they probably know you're not Hungarian, since you're using your English with quite a sharp accent?'

'I told them my father was Hungarian and that I was raised in England' Sherlock said and when Irene laughed, he smiled gently and took a sip of his wine 'It also means violinist' he added after a second.

'Really? I see nothing is ever a coincidence with you, Mr Holmes'

'Never'

'So, do you speak Hungarian?' Irene asked after the waiter came with a main dish. She must have admitted, it was quite nice to sit with Sherlock by the same table and talk, just like normal people did. About regular things, but at the same time looking at him the way she'd never looked at anyone and feeling some specific tension between the two of them. With every passing second she felt more relaxed, more comfortable, more _safe_ , when she was with him. Of course, she was used to being alone and dealing with her problems on her own, but sometimes it was just too much, even for her, and his presence made her stop worrying about some things, as she certainly had a lot to worry about.

'Yes, I'd learned some before I came to Budapest'

'So why aren't you using it instead of English?'

'I don't have the proper accent and I don't like using languages when I don't sound as good as a native speaker' the woman raised her eyebrows. She would have never expected Sherlock to be such a perfectionist. She expected him to be able to learn a language in a couple of hours, but the fact that he didn't bother to use it was quite surprising.

'Tell me something, I want to hear it' Sherlock sighed and raised his hand to call the waiter.

'Kaphatok egy üveg pezsgőt, kérem?' waiter answered something back and disappeared, to come back after a minute with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Sherlock thanked him and opened the bottle to fill the glasses with a light, golden liquid.

'What are we celebrating?' Irene was impressed, because he sounded just as the native speaker, or at least she couldn't find any difference, but she wasn't going to tell him that. Instead she just took the glass from him and raised it to toast, whatever they were toasting for.

'We're not celebrating anything' he drunk the champagne, leaving her slightly disappointed. She didn't know what answer she expected, but definitely any other than this one. After a couple of minutes of silence, Sherlock finally called the waiter and paid for their dinner, ready to leave the restaurant.


	5. Chapter 5

_Who saw the last episode? Personally I think it was great and I really loved it, although I wished for more Adlock. Well, it is what it is and despite that I enjoyed it a lot, although I'm not sure if 'enjoy' is the right word since I cried couple of times._

 _Also, thank you so much for you reviews, it really means a lot to me, every single kind word and the awareness that someone reads (and enjoys!) it! Hope the next chapter won't disappoint you!_

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Chapter 5

'What is it?' the detective asked, pointing at a black suitcase standing by the wall in his hotel room.

'A suitcase' Irene answered and went in, taking her coat off.

'That I see, but what is it doing in my room?' he followed her with his sight as she took her heels off and sat on the edge of the bed.

'I needed a place to stay' she explained briefly, apparently not bothered with the fact that the whole situation was slightly unusual.

'But why in my room?' Sherlock still didn't understand why she was there with him, why he'd even taken her with him back to the hotel instead of leaving her after they'd left the restaurant.

'They didn't have any free rooms'

'Yes, but it is not the only hotel in Budapest. You're not staying here, get out' he opened the door and put her bag outside the room. He wasn't going to let her play with him, he was tired of her games, of trying to figure out his own feelings. He was better off without her, or at least he tried to convince himself that he felt better all alone.

'Sherlock…' she stood up and came to him, looking him straight in the eyes. She didn't want to tell him the reason she was there, the _real_ reason she'd found him, because she knew he would be mad about the fact that she'd used him. But that wasn't the case. Of course, at the beginning it had been about the fact that she'd needed his help, but during the previous evening everything had changed. When she'd woken up this morning she'd known something was different. Her voice was changed now, much softer, and Sherlock could hear there something that didn't really match the powerful woman. Begging?

'What do you want?' Sherlock looked at her and in his voice she could hear the anger, the same one she'd heard before near the crime scene. One look was enough for her to realize that he knew. He knew it was more than accidental meeting. He was, after all, Sherlock Holmes and he definitely was able to figure this out, sooner or later.

'Nothing, I'm just…' for the first time she felt speechless and hopeless. There was no point in lying to him, but she still was concerned about telling him the truth. She was hoping he would help her, he'd done it one time in the past, but she also knew it wasn't that simple. Would he be willing to do this again?

'What do you want?' the man repeated the question slowly, barely controlling his own emotions. He started walking towards her and for the first time she couldn't stand him being so close, so she moved back until she felt the wall behind her back.

'You' she took a deep breath and responded with only one, simple word, hoping he would come up with the rest of the story on his own.

Sherlock moved back and took her suitcase from the hall, closing the door to the room. He then stood by the window and looked down at the city. It was already dark outside and it was snowing again. For a moment it was completely quiet in the room, he could hear the muffled buzzing of the streets and her heavy breath somewhere behind him. Somehow he felt like he'd been there before. She needed his help, and he was probably willing to give it to her. But why? He could just throw her out of the door, lock it, take the violin and let himself drown in the soft music. He didn't care about people, about their private troubles, so why would he care about her?

'You need my help. Again' he said after long minutes of heavy silence.

'You figured it out just now?' Irene tried to behave just as she always did, as with a teasing voice she tried to embarrass his observatory skills.

'Don't you think you're not really in the position to make jokes here?' the detective didn't turn around to look at her, instead he just put his hands into pockets of his trousers and kept looking at the street, tiny people, bright lights and small snowflakes reflecting the light of the street lamps.

'You don't have to be so serious about this, it's not really a big deal' the woman came closer to stand directly behind him and gently slid her hand down his shoulder.

'You need protection. Who's after you?'

'How do you know someone's after me? I've never told you what I need'

'You won't stay alone in a hotel room, instead you want to stay with me. You spent all day following me, saying you wanted to help with the case, but maybe you were just scared that someone would hurt you when there was no one around. Now the case is closed, but you still don't want to leave me. Who's after you and why, Ms Adler?' he looked at her and instantly regretted it. Her blue, shiny eyes were a distraction that made him unable to focus.

'Maybe I just really like you' she whispered and smiled gently, knowing there was no turning back. Sooner or later she would have to tell him the truth.

'Oh stop it!' he turned from her and walked on the other side of the room, taking his jacket off and putting it on the bed 'You know it doesn't work for me'

'Does it?' she raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms on her chest 'I wouldn't say that after last night' a wide smile appeared on Irene's lips, as she was watching Sherlock's face changing from indifference to confusion and then anger. Instead of saying anything, Sherlock rolled up sleeves of his shirt and took his violin out of the case, completely ignoring her presence. He started playing some random melody, not even focusing on what kind of song was it. Bach, Mozart or Chopin, that didn't really matter. He needed to think, run away from the present to the only world that was able to calm him down; to the world of music. He was just tired of talking to her and he needed some space 'It was nice talking to you' she mumbled and sighed loudly, resigned leaving the room to take a bath.

When she came back to the bedroom Sherlock was standing in front of the window, still playing his violin and apparently not very interested in her presence. She sat on the edge of the bed, wearing his robe with her wet, curly hair falling softly on her shoulders. For a second she let herself watch the detective lost in his own thoughts, before she took a deep breath, ready to tell him everything in order to be sure he would help her, again.

'I misbehaved' she started and felt like, although she'd said that before many times, this time it just didn't fit. Sherlock didn't turn and didn't stop playing and Irene wasn't sure he even heard her, but she was going to continue either way 'I was involved in a… relationship with a son of an Arabic sheikh. Their family owned one of the biggest oil companies in the world and they had shares in some others. I was living with them, travelling across continents, building their trust, until one day…' she stopped and closed her eyes, not knowing if there was any point in telling him all of this, since he probably didn't care at all. Irene felt disappointed, she wanted him to care not only because she needed his help. She slowly came to the point where she realised that she expected from him something more than that. Something that he probably wasn't going to give her so easily and she wasn't going to ask him for that 'One day he asked me to marry him' she added after a short break and that one statement made Sherlock cut his melody. He slowly put his violin on the armchair next to him, but didn't look at her. The woman could have seen his face in the clear window in front of him, his eyes riveted in the buildings on the other side of the road.

'And?' he asked finally, after she didn't manage to tell him anything more.

'He signed quite a lot of shares in his company over me, as well as his money, houses in different parts of the world. He gave almost everything he had in order to make me marry him. I agreed and the same night I disappeared from their house. I destroyed their company, took away their living and their good name so now… they want me dead' she finished and hoped he would look at her, to see in her eyes how much she needed his help. Because right in that moment she felt helpless, she suddenly felt all the pressure of things she'd done, the reality of being followed by an assassin ready to kill her without hesitation. Maybe he was watching them right now, through their window, maybe he'd been sitting in the restaurant they'd been having dinner. She almost felt his cold breath, the breath of death, on her neck and she couldn't do anything but feel terrified over her own life. Finally, after another long break Sherlock turned around and saw the woman sitting on the bed, looking so innocent, vulnerable and lost, but he didn't feel any compassion for her. He knew she was capable of the most cruel and inhuman things and what threatened her was only the result of her pride and games she'd been playing. Irene Adler crossed the line and came to the last man on Earth that she thought might have helped her. Sherlock was torn between the desire to throw her out of the door and just let her die for everything she'd done and the weird, unknown and hostile feeling that made him want to help her and, what is more, keep her close to him, making sure she was safe and that she would never make such a mistake again. When he looked at her, he looked at her with disgust, but behind that, in the specific depth of his eyes, there was something more that was fighting to be noticed.

'I really used to think higher of you' he said, shaking gently his head 'But you are just as proud, selfish and stupid as I could have expected you to be after everything you've done' Irene stood from the bed and walked towards the detective.

'This really isn't necessary' she reacted to the insults he used to describe her. Irene, again, expected from him completely different behaviour. She thought she'd changed him and helped him face his feelings, but apparently he was still the same, cold-hearted detective unable to any emotions towards another human being. She let herself hope and go off the deep end, but at the end she realised that in this world there was only one person she could trust and it was herself. Being independent and self-sufficient was best for her, no matter what her heart tried to express.

'Oh no, I think it is. You seduced the man for money, for material things. I thought you have some dignity, but really you're just pathetic' he despised her and Irene could hear this contempt in his voice, but she couldn't stand being humiliated by his words. Instead of saying anything she raised her hand and slapped his cheek. The empty noise filled the room and Sherlock looked at her surprised. She no longer looked innocent and scared, once again she rose in herself, with all her power and dignity of the woman Sherlock had met before 'Was it even worth it?' the detective asked, laughing in her face and looking into her eyes, not knowing why he tried to provoke her. In his mind she deserved it as she was the only one guilty for her own situation.

'I've done much worse' she ground out, watching as the redness on his cheek slowly disappeared.

'Oh, I know you have. But you've never faced the possibility of losing your life to something so shallow' a smile of triumph appeared on Sherlock's face as he was convinced that in this game he was the winner. She was only in the position to beg for his help and he knew he was her last resort. She would have never survived if he didn't help her and the detective still didn't make up his mind.

'So I understand you're not going to help me?' she turned her back to him and walked to the other side of the bed, crossing her arms on her chest. She tried to behave like it didn't bother her at all, like she had other choices, but at the same time she knew she didn't. Sherlock Holmes was her only chance and if she'd left this room alone, she would have been dead by the next morning. Currently this was her biggest weakness and since she'd already felt exposed, she wasn't going to admit it. Irene Adler was this kind of a woman who always kept her chin up and this time wasn't any different.

'I didn't say that' his answer surprised her and instantly she turned to look at him, with an expression of disbelief written all over her face.

'So you are going to help me, then?' Irene frowned in confusion. She couldn't understand his behaviour, from insulting her to offering help.

'Yes' Sherlock sighed, he still didn't know why he was doing it, but he very much hoped it would be worth his effort. It looked like his stay in Budapest was going to grind on. The man put his violin into the case, apparently giving the woman signs that their conversation about the whole thing was, for now, over. She stood in her place, watching his moves, still a bit confused.

'What are we going to do know?' she asked finally, when she realized Sherlock lost the interest in her case.

'About what?' he stopped in the middle of putting his jacket back to the wardrobe and looked at her.

'Are you kidding? I've just told you that there's an assassin going after me, and you're going to ignore it? I'm asking what are you going to do to stop me from getting killed?'

'Right now?' he looked at the watch on his wrist. It was quite late and as he hadn't had much sleep the night before, Sherlock was getting quite tired 'Right now I'm going to take a shower and probably try to get some sleep' he got back to cleaning the room, taking his shoes off and putting his watch on the bedside table, while Irene couldn't believe that he was so calm about all of this. He noticed she was clearly shocked.

'Calm down, it's not like they're going to come here and kill you in your sleep. If they wanted to kill you as soon as possible they would have probably done this already. They might be watching us, but I'm sure your friends don't want the publicity caused by your death' Sherlock said before he disappeared in the bathroom, finally having some time alone, separate from Irene Adler.

When the detective got out of bathroom he noticed the woman laying on the one side of the bed and watching him carefully. She was curious if he was going to sleep with her, or sit in the armchair as he'd done last night. Just as she expected, Sherlock decided not to sleep with her. Instead he picked up a book and started reading it, but couldn't focus feeling her eyes on him. Soon he realized he was reading the same line over and over again. He'd never slept in one bed with another person. It was weird and uncomfortable, especially for them, as they weren't in any kind of relationship and were kind of forced to share one bed.

'You know you don't have to sleep over there' Irene said after a few minutes of watching Sherlock pretending to be reading a book. She knew the situation was unconventional, for both of them, but that didn't mean they couldn't break some personal barriers.

'It's alright, we'll move to a bigger room tomorrow'

'Fine. Goodnight then' Irene closed her eyes and turned on the other side so Sherlock could only see her back. He stood up and turned the lights off so it was completely dark inside. He stood by the window, trying to analyze the whole situation and everything that had happened since yesterday's evening. Most of all, he tried to understand his own behaviour and his own emotions, as they were the one that concerned him the most. He didn't know where to start and soon one thought started occupying his mind. Maybe some things were better left unanalyzed? Maybe he didn't have to know everything, maybe the whole point of having feelings towards other person was not analyzing them and just letting them be. Sherlock couldn't understand it, love was a chemical defect, sentiment was a fault of a human nature and he could control it. He'd been doing this for his whole life and know, within 24 hours, everything seemed to had changed and the great detective found himself standing in front of a high wall, not sure how to overcome it.

The detective looked at the woman sleeping in his bed. She seemed to be deep asleep by now, he could hear her deep breath and see her chest rising and falling regularly. He sighed and finally, after a long moment of hesitation, he slid to the space next to her on the very edge of the bed. He closed his eyes, feeling a bit awkward but hoping that exhaustion would make him fall asleep soon. Sherlock thought Irene didn't know he laid down in bed with her, but she hadn't been sleeping yet and so she smiled gently when she rose her eyelids and saw his slim shadow laying next to her.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The next morning Sherlock woke up with the sunrise. Golden and orange rays of sun were reflected in the glass windows on the other side of the street and the whole world seemed brighter than usual. For a moment he forgot about the events of past two days and it wasn't until he saw a slim, female figure lying next to him, when he realized what had happened. Slowly, not wanting to wake her up, he got out of bed and headed to the bathroom to get dressed and wait for her to wake up.

The detective sat in his chair, but instead of reading a book or doing anything else, he was just watching her, appreciating the time to, once again, think everything over, including not only her case but also her presence. First of all, he needed to figure out how to save her. Killing the assassin would never work, as sheikh himself would probably send someone else as long as Irene Adler would be dead. Faking her death? He'd done it before and he surely could do this again, but it must have been reliable. The killer would have to see her dead body, because otherwise it would look suspicious. Sherlock had options and was pretty sure he was able to keep her alive and ensure that she would be safe even after they would separate to go into different directions. Soon it all would be over. He wanted to say that they would never see each other again, but hadn't he said it before? When he'd saved her in Karachi, come back to London and thought their story was over forever? He'd never thought they would meet, that their paths would cross again and he definitely hadn't been trying to arrange any meeting, but there she was. Sleeping in his bed, in his hotel room in completely random, European city, in need of his help again. Sometimes he felt like he hated her for being so smart, proud and for making his mind consider things he'd never even thought about before. On the other hand, he liked her company, as their mind worked almost the same way and it was nice to finally talk to someone who wasn't boring him with his extremely average human nature. Speaking of humanity, it was probably the only thing Sherlock knew almost nothing about. He knew people had instincts. He had them too, against what some people might have thought, he wasn't a machine. He was able to feel, to desire and to hurt, but he'd done some effort during most of his life to hide all of this in a closed box. And until very recently no one had ever managed to open this box, despite one person, one woman. Sherlock was slowly coming to the understanding of everything that was happening inside his mind and deep in his chest, but that didn't mean that he accepted it and wasn't going to fight it. Irene Adler, somehow, opened his own Pandora's box and released the chaos of feelings and thoughts the detective had gotten rid of long time ago. It was hard, maybe even impossible, to close it, but Sherlock believed he would be able to do that as soon as she would disappear from his life. The question was if he wanted her to disappear again.

Hours had passed, the sun had fully risen and despite it being the middle of the winter, the sky above Budapest was clear and blue. Sherlock, with his hands under his chin, let himself sunk into the river of thoughts, which got broken by the loud knocking at the door. He opened it and was greeted by the man from hotel staff.

'Good morning, Mr Hegedűs. Here's your breakfast and there's a letter for you' the man handed him a white, clear envelope with two initials on it, his and Irene's. Sherlock took the letter as the man pulled the trolley with breakfast in and after a short 'thank you' he closed the door behind him. Turning around, he saw that Irene was already awake, sitting in bed and watching him carefully. He took the tray from the trolley, put in on the bed next to her and sat on the edge.

'Breakfast in bed, romantic' she said with a teasing voice and a smile on her lips, but shortly noticed that something was wrong.

'They found us' Sherlock ignored her and gave her the envelope, instead of opening it himself. The woman took a moment to read the letter inside.

'It's an invitation to the charity ball tonight, here in Budapest. For you and me' she passed the paper to the detective who read it on his own, then carefully examining the paper and printed letters.

'He's here' he murmured to himself, putting the letter away on the bedside table.

'Who's here?'

'Your ex-fiancé, I thought he sent an assassin after you, but apparently he's going to kill you on his own' Sherlock seemed so calm as if it wasn't a big deal, but Irene felt a cold shiver running through her spine.

'How do you know?'

'Why else would he invite you to the ball? If it was the assassin, he would kill you quietly, but there will be lots of people and he's planning something much bigger.'

'Are we going?'

'Of course we are, do you want to end this or not?'

'But how are you going to make sure he won't kill me? He's not the man you can bargain with'

'Who said I want to bargain with him?'

'If you want to kill him, then, his father...'

'Ms Adler, you've done enough here. Let me take care of this from now on, everything will be fine' Sherlock assured her, at the same time closing the topic. He didn't have a plan, he had no idea what the man was going to do as he'd never met him before, but he was sure that his mind wouldn't let him down.

'Anyway, did you sleep in this chair all night?' Irene asked after a few minutes, in which they both were eating their breakfast and drinking fresh, hot coffee. Sherlock frowned and looked at her confused.

'Yes' he lied as he lowered his gaze at the newspaper he was reading. Irene only smiled knowing he was lying, but didn't say anything. His behaviour amused her and watching him trying to resist her was a real pleasure, especially when deep inside she was scared of losing her own life.

Most of the day Sherlock spent at his hotel room, playing violin and simply trying to come up with any idea of saving Irene's life. The woman herself was gone for most of the day. The invitation to the charity ball ensured her that she wouldn't die before the evening and Sherlock wasn't especially curious what she wanted to do. If he wanted to save her, he needed to focus and her presence certainly wouldn't be helpful.

It was getting dark outside when Irene came back to the hotel with big shopping bags carried by a man from the hotel staff. Sherlock was sitting in his armchair with a glass of whisky on the table next to him. He raised his eyebrows when the door closed behind her and looked at his watch. They had about two hours to get ready and leave for the ball and he still didn't have any particular plan. He didn't know any of the circumstances and he didn't know the man he was going to face. He didn't want to tell her that and so he hoped she wouldn't ask, because he knew she was able to find out when he was lying.

'You were gone for half of the day just to do some shopping?'

'Missed me?' she took her heels and coat off and came to Sherlock, gently brushing his cheek with her finger 'We're going to a ball and such event requires specific dress code' she answered his question and from one of the bags she took a big, black box. She opened it and showed Sherlock a black tuxedo.

'I have plenty of jackets'

'It's not just a jacket, it's tuxedo. You can't go there wearing this' From another bags she took out black trousers, a white shirt, a bowtie and matching shoes.

'You bought me the whole outfit?' the detective couldn't believe his eyes. Irene smiled and laid his clothes on the bed.

'A little thank you would be in place' the woman answered, but before he managed to react she disappeared in the bathroom with another bag. Sherlock just sighed and started getting ready himself.

'Do you need help with that?' he heard her voice, when he was struggling to tie his bowtie around his neck.

'No, I'm...' Sherlock stopped in the middle of the sentence when he looked at Irene standing in the door to the bathroom. She was wearing a long, simple black dress with lacy top and sheer bottom. It highlighted her figure and the long cut down the dress exposed her leg while she was walking. Her hair was tied up and her lips painted, as usual, in dark red. She looked astonishing and for a moment Sherlock couldn't collect his own thoughts. She made a few steps towards him and helped him tie his bowtie with a mysterious smile. He could smell her perfume and just when he thought he'd already gotten used to it, to her, she surprised him again.

'You look... good' the detective tried to complement her and she really appreciated his effort knowing that he wasn't good in such things.

'You too. Ready?' Sherlock nodded in answer and offered her his arm. As she took it, they both left the room and headed to the ball.

They arrived earlier but there was already a lot of people ready to donate their money to some charity. Just when Sherlock wanted to enter the building, Irene stopped him and for the first time he saw in her eyes how scared she really was.

'Sherlock, wait' she said grabbing his hand 'If something happens in there, don't save me at all cost'

'Nothing is going to happen. I didn't save you just to let you die' the detective looked her in the eyes to assure her that everything would be fine and without any further hesitation he entered the building full of rich and influential people from most west European countries.

'Do you see him anywhere?' Sherlock asked after what seemed like the whole eternity, when with glasses of champagne in their hands they were walking among guests. It'd been an hour since the ball started and nothing had happened, but Sherlock knew that it all was to make them feel safe and confident.

'No' Irene drunk her champagne and put the empty glass down. She was tired, scared and insecure that any moment something would happen, something unexpected, something that would result in her death. She obviously didn't want to lose her life, but at the same time she didn't want to risk Sherlock's. She needed him and she was grateful for his help, but she also knew she'd already owed him for saving her in Karachi. After this night her debt would definitely grow bigger.

'Would you like to dance?' the man asked after another minute of silence and Irene looked at him surprised. She certainly didn't expect such an offer from him, as he didn't look as a person who enjoyed dancing.

'Sure' she answered and followed him to the dance floor, where they were surrounded by other dancing couples. Sherlock gently took her one hand in his and the other placed on her waist, holding her close to himself 'I didn't know you dance'

'There are many things you don't know about me, Ms Adler'

'For example?' the woman leaned in closer so they lips were just millimetres apart.

'One step at a time' Sherlock whispered and just as he was going to kiss her in a sudden impulse, he felt someone's hand on his arm.

'Can I?' the male voice with a strong, western accent stopped them from moving as they both looked at the man standing next to them 'It's been some time, Irene. Would you mind?' he pointed his head at the woman. Sherlock and Irene exchanged gazes and the man laughed 'Calm down, it's not like I'm going to kill her... At least not here. Not know' he winked at the woman and she felt the cold shivers running through her spine.

'It's fine' she said to Sherlock and gave the man her hand, trying to keep the distance while they were dancing. Sherlock moved back to the wall, taking a place so he could see the couple. It was getting more and more interesting, as her ex- fiancé finally made a move. Sherlock still wasn't sure what to expect from him, people like this were unpredictable, especially when they were seeking a revenge. Suddenly Sherlock felt a strong hit on the arm. He followed the passing man with his sight and when he looked back at the dance floor, Irene and the mysterious man were both gone. He felt his heart beating a little faster, when he started shouldering his way through the crowd, but there was no signs of their presence. He knew it wasn't just a dance, the man wanted to get rid of Sherlock, but the detective wasn't going to let him fulfil his plan. He was going to keep Irene safe, just as he'd promised.

He started looking around the place, going up and down the stairs, climbing the roof and a terrace, but Irene was nowhere to be found. Sherlock started getting a little nervous, when he realised that with every passing minute it was getting more and more possible that Irene was already dead. The man tried to get rid of this thought as it definitely wasn't helpful. Back in the main room, Sherlock noticed two robust men with headphones in their ears, walking through crowd to the entrance. He started following them, not sure if he was right, but this was his only shot as he was slowly running out of any other possibilities. They rounded the building and disappeared in a small garage hidden among trees in a big garden. Sherlock waited a couple minutes before he decided to go through the door and take a chance that he would find there Irene, hopefully, still alive.

'It took you long enough' the man greeted Sherlock as he walked into the room. It was almost empty, excluding some gardening tools and the guards watching the door. Irene looked at Holmes and he could see the relief on her face. She was still alive and that for him was good enough. The only thing he had to figure out was how to convince the man to let her live 'I don't think we've ever met before, Mr Holmes. Rasal Hakim' he drew his hand towards Sherlock, but the man refused to take it. Rasal then nodded at the two guards who came to Sherlock in order to search him 'I hope you don't mind?'

'Not at all' the men found his gun hidden in a pocket of his jacket, the only thing Sherlock had for his own protection. Now he was only left with his brain which had never let him down before, but Sherlock knew his mind couldn't do everything. There were always some boundaries unable to cross.

'I'm really happy you're here, Mr Holmes, but I want to tell you one thing. You shouldn't save her. She doesn't deserve it, for what she's done.'

'I don't think you're the one to judge' Rasal laughed at the detective's words.

'She's great, isn't she? Able to wrap everyone around her little finger. As soon as you let her get into your head and your bed, you're gone forever. I hope you didn't make this mistake?'

'You want to kill her for your own stupidity and giving away all your wealth to someone you barely knew?' Sherlock didn't answer his question, knowing that the man was right. There was something in Irene Adler that made everyone kneel in front of her, even Sherlock, although he tried his best to resist her.

'So that's what she told you?' Rasal laughed again and looked at Irene. Sherlock did the same thing and noticed that she ran away with her eyes from him. There was something more to what she'd told him and now it was all getting clear. She'd lied to him, again, and he could have predicted it 'Not only did she take my money and ruin my family's empire, but she also killed my brother' Sherlock looked at Irene again and this time their eyes crossed and he could see in them the pain she was in. She'd done many terrible things but she'd never killed anyone before.

'It was self-defence' Irene tried to explain herself, but Rasal shut her down with a gesture of his hand.

'I don't care! When you came to my house you agreed to the rules and they didn't include stealing from me and killing my brother!'

'I didn't agree to sleeping with all your relatives' Irene defended herself and for a moment Rasal looked like he didn't know what to say. Sherlock was observing both of them carefully. He expected Irene to look weak and scared, but all this time she was keeping her head up, her voice was calm and steady, although deep in her eyes there was this glimpse of fear and pain, when she was thinking about her past and the fact that she might have no future in front of her.

'Anyway, this woman must be punished for what she did and you, Mr Holmes, are going to help me, since you're already here.'

'Me?'

'Well, yes. I can assure you, she'll die either way, you can't help it. But you can choose the way she dies. You can kill her yourself, here, tonight, on your own terms or you can let her leave with me. But then be sure that she will suffer a terrible pain before she'll die. Will you spare her the suffering?' Rasal smiled with smile of a mad man and Sherlock felt cold shivers running through his spine.

'What if I don't agree to any of this?'

'Then we'll have three victims tonight' Rasal motioned one of his guards to bring him the laptop. He opened it and on the screen Sherlock could see John's face sitting in, what looked liked, his new flat somewhere in London. For a moment he couldn't believe his eyes.

'How do you...'

'Well, some time ago my dear friend, Jim Moriarty, told me a lot about you two. Until three days ago I thought you were dead but when I saw you with her I needed to make sure that you wouldn't stop me. She has to die, Mr Holmes. I'm sure you won't sacrifice yours and your friend's life for this ungrateful woman?' Sherlock breathed out loudly, looking at Irene. He finally saw how exposed and vulnerable she was knowing that he would never risk John's life in order to save her. Her blue eyes were shining more than ever and the man felt like his heart was slowly breaking into small pieces, when he finally realised that maybe for the first time in his life he actually felt something more for her. Something he'd tried to hide behind the curtain of anger and distance. Maybe it was time to admit that, after all, he was a living and breathing human being with a beating heart and that controlling his own emotions wasn't always possible.

'Fine' he said after a long minute and was surprised by his own weak voice. He took the silver, inwrought with precious stones knife from Rasal and came to Irene. His hand was shaking as he was slowly approaching her, looking into her eyes. He stopped so close to her that he could feel her warm breath on his face. Sherlock wrapped one hand around her waist, holding her close to his body, with the other hand holding a sharp knife. He didn't want to do this, but he didn't have any other option. Sometimes that was how things worked and he just had to let them be. Not every case could be solved. Not every life could be saved. He couldn't let Rasal kill John and he himself had to finish what he'd started – eliminate Moriarty's network. Irene Adler was supposed to be dead anyway, he'd given her more time but, apparently, she wasn't able to appreciate this gift. Sherlock leaned in closer and could feel the woman shivering in his arms. The understanding of what he felt towards her came too late and still wasn't complete, but there was nothing else to be done about this. That was it, the end of their story. The one he was able to write.

'I'm sorry' he whispered and gently pressed his lips against hers. They were soft and warm and tasted like champagne, but that didn't make him feel any better. It only made him wanting to stop all of this. For seconds while their kiss lasted, when he closed his eyes and let himself focus only on this one thing, one feeling taking over his whole body and mind, he tried to convince himself there was another option. He knew there wasn't any, but the idea of her being dead once he'd already tasted the forbidden fruit she was to him made him naive enough to believe that maybe, after all, they had a chance.

Irene wrapped her hands around his neck, for the last time wanting to feel the warmth of his body and the softness of his skin. She didn't blame him for what he was about to do. She would die anyway and if so, she wanted him to be the one who would take her life. His choice was obvious, she knew she didn't deserve anything more from him but right in that moment, when she closed her eyes ready for what was about to happen, she realised that maybe she'd missed something. She'd missed the opportunity of the better life with someone even smarter and more brilliant. Irene Adler was running away her whole life – from the past, from responsibilities, from feelings, as long as she hit the wall. She lost control, she crossed the line and all of this could have been different. The man in whose arms she was going to die was the one for whom she had relatively strong feelings, waiting to be explored. Maybe it wasn't love, maybe it was too early for that, or maybe too late? But there was the connection, the attraction, the tension that now made her regret everything.

Finally, after what seemed like the eternity, with a slight hesitation Sherlock pushed the cold knife into her stomach, holding her body so she wouldn't fall down the floor. Irene groaned in pain when the knife cut her skin and went deep into her body. She opened her eyes and tried to hold on to Sherlock as long as she was able to stay conscious, when suddenly the blood started coming out of her wound, leaving red spots on Sherlock's white shirt. The man gently laid her on the floor, leaving the knife inside the wound and kneeled down, looking at her face getting whiter with every second.

'It was beautiful! The final goodbye of lovers, it really looked like you two where in love!' Rasal triumphed out loud clapping his hands and stood next to Irene's body with her eyes closed, pale skin and the growing stain of blood around her 'Thank you, Mr Holmes. I really don't like getting my hands dirty' the man laughed and left the room together with his two guards, leaving Sherlock who, as he realised, was still holding Irene's hand.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Irene Adler didn't know how dying felt like. She'd never died before. Well, not _really._ She'd also always thought she wasn't afraid of death, but so she'd never expected it would come so soon. When she felt the blade of a silver dagger pressed right to her body and then cutting her flesh and going deeper into her abdomen, she realized she was terrified. But it wasn't as much about pain as it was about what was about to happen after. Of course, for her there wasn't going to be any after, her story ended in this room, in strong arms of Sherlock Holmes, the brilliant detective who wasn't able to save her again, but she was wondering if he would remember her, from time to time reminiscing their quite unusual relationship. She didn't want him to completely forget, but that didn't really depend on her anymore.

The pain was terrible and the deep, loud groan escaped her mouth when for a moment they broke their last kiss, as she moved her head back in shock with this unpleasant feeling. The kiss of death, as Sherlock was the one holding the weapon. Almost immediately the sound drowned in detective's mouth, when he pressed her closer, trying to give her something she could focus on instead of the fact that, from now on, she was really dying. Irene could still feel his arms around her waist, when the grip of her own around his neck was getting weaker with every passing second. She felt her body burning, as the pain was radiating from her wound, but it definitely wasn't the kind of burning she could enjoy.

Suddenly, everything got dark and the woman thought this was the end. She didn't even get to see his face for the last time, look in his eyes and see what he was thinking and how he was feeling. She tried to rise her eyelids, but even such a minor movement appeared to be too exhausting for her. After another long second she felt something cold and hard beneath her back and it took her a longer amount of time than usual to realize she was now laying on the floor.

She was getting cold, her body started shivering when she no longer felt Sherlock's warmth beside her. Everything was getting more quiet, the sounds were coming to her from behind the curtain, as if she was trapped in a glass bubble, isolated from what surrounded her. She could hear Rasal's voice and his terrible laughter, but it was all muffled and it was difficult for her to understand any words despite one. _Love_. She was almost sure she heard it, but then she was dying and her mind could trick her into hearing only what she really wanted to hear.

Irene Adler had always thought Sherlock was the one who knew nothing about this mysterious feeling that many people thought to be so incredible and special. When she started thinking about it she realized that, in fact, she knew about love as much as Sherlock did - absolutely nothing. The whole idea was as strange for her as it was for the detective. She'd never really loved and felt loved. The relationship with her parents had been difficult and it had partially contributed to whom she'd become. The broken heart from the past had made her forget everything connected to the word love, and she was only able to make other people love and admire her, but she'd never returned these feelings. She'd laughed at Sherlock for being a virgin, but who else was she? She realized that, although sex was enjoyable, it'd never meant anything and soon it'd become and obligation, something she did out of habit rather than pleasure and her own will. As if her body didn't correspond with her mind and heart, producing two different reactions. She knew it was too late to think about it, she'd done what she'd done and nothing was able to reverse it and change her past. But, considering she was given a chance, would she decide to make a change and lead her life differently?

She didn't know. Some choices she'd made, she'd made not because she'd wanted to, but because life had forced her to pick certain way. Her almost every step, every word, every decision had been influenced by previous events. And even though she was the one to be blamed for her own death, the one mistake that had lead her to this garage was probably the effect of how she'd been raised, not being afraid of taking the risk and constantly playing with fire. Even in that moment, when the last thing she felt was a slight grip of Sherlock's hand, she still couldn't believe in the existence of love, at least the one she'd seen in all those terrible movies, which had always ended with boring and predictable happy ending. They didn't get the happy ending, but then could their story be called a love story? Definitely not.

The reality of what Sherlock had just done struck him when the door behind Rasal and his guards closed. He felt Irene's hand getting colder in his own and looked down at her body, with closed eyes and face a lot whiter than before. Still, as for someone who was meant to save her but, instead, put the dagger inside her body, he acted extremely calm and steady, as he drew the phone from the pocket of his trousers and picked an emergency number. In a few words he explained the problem and without waiting for the response he put the phone down and focused completely on Irene Adler.

With his fingers he raised her eyelids and looked into her eyes, she was definitely unconscious and her pupils seemed normal, but to make sure Sherlock took his phone once again and turned on the torch in it. When her pupils reacted to the light, the detective sighed deeply, apparently relieved. She was still alive, barely, as her breath was getting more shallow and hear heartbeat slowed down. She definitely didn't have much time, although the dagger stuck in her abdomen blocked out the loss of her blood, it still could find the way out.

'Don't die, I always keep my promises' the detective said, even though he knew she couldn't hear him and she definitely couldn't keep herself alive. Suddenly he felt really exhausted and realized that he felt the weird pressure in his chest. Sherlock took a deep breath and closed his eyes, for a moment trying to calm himself down, as he thought that this might not work. The ambulance might be late and they wouldn't get there in time to save her, before she would die once and for all. He took the risk, tired to push the dagger right where he would never damage any of her organs, but then he wasn't the doctor, he didn't have time to think it through. He risked her life, but what other choice did he have? He could have let them both die, including John being unaware of anything, or he could have let Rasal take Irene and kill her, right after he would torture her, probably for days, until she would started begging for death. Among all these options, this one seemed like the most reasonable one, but Sherlock still wasn't sure. He could only hope, have faith, estimate the distance from the nearest hospital, the placement of organs and the time it would take the paramedics to get there, but he'd never been the strongest believer, and these were all just blind guesses.

He opened his eyes and looked at the woman laying next to him. Her chest was barely moving, he checked her pupils again and put his ear next to her mouth, to feel a slight, but present breath on his skin. Something about this view made his stomach hurt. She looked so peaceful, on her black dress the stain of blood was almost invisible. If he hadn't known, he would have thought she was just sleeping. But he was more than aware that she wasn't, her life was draining from her together with the blood and soon there wouldn't be any Irene Adler. There would only be the memory of their every meeting, every word she'd ever spoken to him, every gaze they'd ever shared and then, finally, every touch, that had always made his heart beat slightly faster than usual. Even back in London when she'd touched his hand he'd felt like there'd been a bird flapping his wings inside of his chest. Yes, he'd despised her, humiliated her and made her believe that he'd been the winner. But then, after all, he'd appeared to save her, showing her that she was the one in power. Now, sitting over her almost dead body, usually brilliant detective had problems with deducing his own feelings, based on everything that had ever happened between them. Or maybe it wasn't as much about deducing as it was about admitting to himself that he was more humane than he'd ever wanted to be. He could almost hear his brother's voice in his head, mocking him about being so vulnerable and weak that he couldn't resist her, even after all this time that had passed. He tried to think that Mycroft knew nothing about him, that his feelings for Irene, whatever they were, definitely couldn't be described with one, simple, four-letter word. _It's not like that_ , he wanted to say to Mycroft's voice. _Then how is it, Sherlock?_ He could hear his response and see his face, mysterious, almost invisible smile on his lips, as he looked at his younger brother, defeated by, as he would think, something other people used to call love. Surprisingly, talking to Mycroft in his mind wasn't unusual for Sherlock. Not that he needed anyone, especially his self-righteous brother, to tell him what was right and what was wrong, but this kind of helped him understand some things and, what is more, keep himself sane. And now he needed it more than ever, as he was slowly getting impatient and terrified that he might have just made the biggest mistake of his entire life.

Fortunately, after what seemed like ages, he heard the siren and soon four paramedics entered the garage and kneeled down by Irene. They checked her pulse and pupils and within a minute they were taking her to the ambulance. She was still alive, but she didn't have much time. Without hesitating Sherlock followed paramedics to the ambulance and jumped inside, sitting next to her. Among the buzzing of medical equipment and rushed, Hungarian words coming out of paramedics' mouth, the detective focused completely on the woman, who was now laying with oxygen mask and lots of tubes connected to her body. He still felt very tense and his muscles hurt. She could still die, even though now her chances were higher than half an hour ago.

When they got to the hospital paramedics almost immediately took Irene inside, straight to the operating room. Sherlock didn't even bother to enter the hospital, knowing they wouldn't let him inside anyway. He was useless right now and all he could do was wait. The detective sat on the bench outside the hospital and hid his face in his hands, closing his eyes. He was so tired, but not physically. He felt somehow guilty and really worried about Irene's life and he didn't even know why. _Of course you know why, Sherlock_. He heard Mycroft's voice once again and tightened his eyelids even more.

'Shut up' Sherlock said out loud angrily 'It's not what you think it is'

'I'm sorry?' he heard another voice, this time real and coming from the young woman standing in front of him.

'What?' he snapped in Hungarian at her and the woman made a step back, gazing at him hesitantly, before she spoke again.

'You were… talking out loud. Is everything all right?' she asked, evidently concerned. Sherlock eyed her and opened his mouth to make his usual deduction, but gave up, not feeling like doing it.

'Of course everything's all right, why wouldn't it be?' Sherlock answered, clearly irritated, but apparently that didn't discouraged her to continue.

'Well, you're sitting outside the hospital with your head hidden in your hands and you look rather… miserable. That's not really a hard deduction'

'What do you know about…' he stopped in the middle of the sentence when the strange woman sat next to him.

'My fiancé has been in the operating room for eight hours now. We've just got engaged. He has a tumor, and…'

'Look, I'm sorry, but I don't really…' Sherlock tried to interrupt her, but apparently she didn't care much about what he had to say.

'He will probably die tonight and I've just realized I've never told him I love him. He tells me this every day, but I've never really believed in love and so I've never said it back' she looked at Sherlock and he could see tears in her eyes. He clinched his teeth and tried really hard not to say anything offensive. He just needed some space, some peace to think. Why people were always there when he evidently didn't need them? 'Whoever is it in there, if they mean for you just enough that you're waiting here, upset and nervous, don't keep your thoughts and feelings to yourself. There's nothing worse than loosing someone you care about' despite his strength, Sherlock felt his stomach clinching painfully. He stood from his seat and without any word he walked away, leaving the young woman crying.

Sherlock had no idea how much time had passed when the doctor walked out of the door of the emergency room and came to him with face that didn't express anything. But Sherlock didn't need his face to say anything. He knew the doctor didn't have any good news for him.

'Good evening, Mr…' the doctor reached his hand towards the detective and he shook it shortly, before giving him his name.

'Ho.. Hegedűs' he hesitated, for a second forgetting that here, in Budapest, he was someone else. And Irene Adler had to be someone else as well.

'Well, Mr Hegedűs, I have some information about your wife'

'She's not my wife' Sherlock responded automatically and at the same time realized that he made a mistake. They couldn't reveal any information to anyone else but the family of the patient.

'Oh, I'm sorry, I assumed that since you came with her…'

'She's my fiancée' Sherlock interrupted, trying to make up for his stupidity. It was just a game, pretending to be someone else. Fake identity, fake relationship, fake feelings. _But is it all fake, Sherlock?_

'Shut up' he mumbled to his own thoughts and met confused look of the doctor.

'Excuse me?' the man seemed offended by Sherlock's reaction.

'I'm sorry, I wasn't saying this to you. You said you have some information, what is it?'

'Well, your fiancée's condition was really bad when we brought her to the OR, she lost a lot of blood…'

'Can you just tell me already, without unnecessary flannelling? I don't need all of this. She's dead, isn't she?' the detective was annoyed with his small talk, he knew the situation was bad, but he needed to hear it from someone else to be 100% sure.

'No, not yet. We're doing our best to save her, but unfortunately there has been an internal damage and even with blood transfusion she's still losing it. I want you to prepare yourself that we might won't be able to help her' Sherlock froze at his words. He'd hurt her more than he'd wanted to. He'd made the mistake and rather than saved her, he made it worse.

'What internal damage?' Sherlock asked with calm and steady voice.

'She needs a liver transplant. She's already on the list, but this may take some time'

'Take mine, I can be a donor' the detective answered without hesitating.

'It's not so easy, Mr Hegedűs. We would have to examine you and your blood group might not be suitable'

'My blood group is 0, which means you can use it for whatever group she has' the doctor seemed surprised with his wide knowledge.

'That's perfect, but I just want you to know that this might not work, we still need to carry some crucial tests' Sherlock ignored his words and got inside the building. He didn't care. It was his only chance to save her and he definitely wasn't going to break the promise.

* * *

 _Hi! I hope you're enjoying it so far! Just wanted to emphasise that obviously I have no idea what Sherlock's blood group is and it's all for the purpose of the story! Also thank you for all your comments, stay tuned, because there are couple more chapters to come!_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Sherlock opened slowly his eyes and almost immediately the bright light blinded him. He closed them again, tightening his eyelids and for a second feeling confused about where he found himself. When he tried to move and felt pain in his abdomen, everything that had happened came back to him and suddenly his heart started beating a little bit faster than usual. _Irene_ he thought, as he opened his eyes again and blinked couple of times to adjust his sight to the light. He looked around the clean, white hospital room and then at himself, his body covered with white sheets and connected with plastic tubes to the buzzing medical equipment standing next to his bed. He uncovered himself and looked at his stomach with bandage wrapped around it. Just as he tried to sit, ignoring the terrible pain from his wound, the three doctors, of which one of them seemed like an attending and the others were interns with notepads in their hands, entered the room.

'Don't try to move, Mr Hegedűs, your wound is still fresh. I'm glad you're awake, how are you feeling?' the doctor asked, standing by the end of Sherlock's bed.

'How's… how's my…' he started with a dry voice. One of the interns passed him a plastic cup filled with cold water and Sherlock drunk it all at once.

'You're fiancée is stable, for now, but unconscious. She's in the ICU. You saved her life, if it hadn't been for you, she'd have never made it out of the OR' the doctor explained and smiled gently. The detective didn't even bother to ask him if he could go and see her, knowing that they didn't let anyone but hospital staff to enter the ICU. Instead he just nodded and rested his head on the pillow, breathing deeply. 'Can you tell me how do you feel?'

'In pain. Can I get some more morphine?' Sherlock knew it probably wasn't the best idea, as a former addict using morphine, even just as a pain relief, might have ended badly for him, but right now that was the least of his worries.

'Of course. I just need to tell you one more thing. During your surgery there was a minor problem, you lost more blood than you should have and for a moment we lost you on the table. Your body is exhausted and you need to rest' Sherlock closed his eyes. He couldn't believe how suddenly all of his plans had changed. He was supposed to leave Budapest today and follow Moriarty's network. With his wound, stay at the hospital and Irene being unconscious and still in some kind of a danger, he just couldn't do that. All that he'd been working on for months had been destroyed by one woman and he couldn't say he couldn't have suspected it. She was trouble, she'd always been. First time she'd appeared in his life she'd made him destroy his brother's plan and know she did it again. She was just like a riotous wind, she belonged only to herself, but was able to mess with other people's life, somehow always wining the game.

Surprisingly, although he was mad at himself for letting her get into his head and also, presumably, his heart, he also didn't really care. She was alive. He'd saved her, even though he'd almost killed her, and that, above all, seemed to matter to him the most.

Despite doctor's orders Sherlock wasn't going to lay idly in his bed. Right after the doctors had left, he took his phone laying on the bedside table.

'I need your help' he said and twisted his face, as he hated talking on the phone and asking people for favours 'I need you to go to my hotel room and bring me some things' he added without waiting for the response of the person on the other side.

 _'_ _Who do you think I am?'_ he heard an irritated voice of Hungarian police officer he'd been working with.

'You really don't want to know' Sherlock snapped and rolled his eyes 'I'm in the hospital and I need some clothes. Order one of your people to bring me them if after what I've done for you, you can't even do such a small thing'

' _Hospital? What happened?_ ' the DI sounded worried and Sherlock sighed deeply.

'Just do it' he said and hung up, again resting his head on the pillow. He started thinking about everything that had happened, about how he'd managed to fake Irene's death for the second time. It seemed ridiculous, person who'd already been dead couldn't die again, but that was now his reality. And, somehow, he needed to make sure she would be safe. If Rasal had found out about all of this, he would have been after her again and this time he would probably kill her with his own hands, killing Sherlock at the same time. She was in danger and, not being sure why, Sherlock felt responsible for her. Right now she was so vulnerable and weak that she would never be able to take care of herself. But Holmes also knew he wasn't the right person to take care of her either, he had his own business and he definitely wasn't the most compassionate person to help her cure. The man was so confused about so many things, his thoughts were moving across his brain with an incredible speed and he wasn't able to stop them. One thing he realized was that he cared about Irene Adler more than he'd ever thought he would and that was certainly something new.

After an hour the DI appeared in Sherlock's room with a bag filled with Irene's and Sherlock's clothes, as the detective texted him to ask about taking some out of her suitcase. The man stopped in the door and grunted silently, not knowing if Sherlock was sleeping as he was laying with his eyes closed. Hearing the noise he slowly raised his eyelids and looked at the police officer.

'Watch the door, I need to get dressed. And close the blinds before you leave' Sherlock said without any greeting or even simple 'thank you'. The man stood in his place for a moment, watching Sherlock uncovering himself and showing him his bandage.

'What the hell happened to you?'

'Doesn't matter' Sherlock slowly stood up and holding his IV rack he took the bag from the man, looking at him impatiently. The DI turned around and closed the door, giving Sherlock some privacy. He still felt really weak, but he raised himself the level of morphine to the maximum so at least he didn't feel any pain. He knew it wouldn't work forever, but it should give him time to figure out how to get to the ICU without being noticed. Something drew him towards Irene and he felt like he needed to see her, even briefly for just a couple minutes.

Dressed in his usual clothes he got out of the room and closed the door. The night round started at 7pm so he had about two hours till someone would notice he was gone and he hoped no one would come to his room in the meantime.

'Are you sure you can walk?' the DI followed Sherlock across the hallway.

'Yes' Sherlock responded although he knew it wasn't the best idea. His stitches could tear open in every second and he would start bleeding from his wound, what could definitely end badly for him.

'Are you going to tell me what's happened?'

'No' Sherlock stood by the nurses' counter, watching the door to the ICU. The staff used magnetic cards to open the door so there was no way to get there without having one. And even if he'd had one, considering the way he was dressed, someone would have shortly noticed he wasn't supposed to be there.

'Why are you in the hospital? Is everything all right?'

'Don't you have any case you're working on?' Sherlock looked at the man clearly annoyed.

'Yes, but…'

'Then go, it's not your business' the detective wasn't going to talk to him any longer, as he walked away from the counter and turned left, following one of the nurses. The DI didn't say anything and headed towards the entrance, mumbling something to himself.

The nurse led Sherlock to the small room filled with usual medical equipment. Sherlock entered the room after her and closed the door. The woman turned to look at him, clearly surprised with his presence.

'I'm sorry, sir, you're not supposed to be here' she said in Hungarian.

'Yes, I'm sorry, I'm dr Parker, from London's St Barts hospital and I was asked to assist in the surgery this evening, but I didn't bring any clothes. Do you know where can I get them?' the woman looked at him suspiciously. She was quite young and Sherlock from her scared look, messy clothes and trembling hands deduced she hadn't been working there for a long time.

'There are some here' she answered in English and pointed at the box filled with blue clothes in different colours 'Light blue is for interns and residents, dark one for attendings. Take whatever you need' she said, herself taking some syringes from the shelf and closing the door behind her. Sherlock took the dark blue outfit and quickly changed, leaving his old clothes in the corner of the room. The next thing he needed to get was magnetic card, but that didn't really seem to be a problem, a least not for him.

Back closer to the ICU, Sherlock spotted an older nurse carrying a pile of documents. He saw that she had her card hung on her neck and so he decided to approach her.

'Can I help you with these?' he asked in Hungarian and the woman smiled at him, relieved.

'Thank you, son, you're saving my life' Sherlock smiled back at her, taking files from her hands and then, accidentally dropping them on the floor.

'I am so sorry, I didn't mean to…' he apologized, trying to look as guilty as possible. The woman smiled patiently and kneeled down to help him pick up the documents. Doing this he managed to reach the hanging card and unpin it from the lanyard. He then helped her stood up and took the files to the counter, disappearing right after that.

As the detective was approaching the ICU doors, he felt his heart beating faster and faster and he didn't know why. Irene Adler was unconscious, she couldn't see him or talk to him, but the idea of being with her in the same room, seeing her again, alive, made him feel the whole loads of things. Without hesitation he scanned the card and unnoticed went through the door, desperate to find the right room.

It didn't take him a long time, as he was walking down the hallway, looking through windows into the rooms. When he finally found her, he looked around to make sure no one was watching him and entered the room, closing the door and the blinds behind him.

She looked so calm, with her eyes closed and her light, soft skin. Among the buzzing of the medical machinery he could hear her steady breath. Suddenly he couldn't image her being dead. Last time he'd thought she died, something in him had broken. She'd torn a hole in him, the one he hadn't been able to repair. He'd never felt that way before, he'd never felt so attached to another person, even to John. As he came closer to her bed, he realized his hands were slightly trembling. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , he said to himself fighting an impulse to slap his own face. He needed to focus, he couldn't let her distract him even when she was still unconscious. Slowly he reached his hand and with his fingertips he touched the top of her hand. Her skin was as smooth as he remembered it. For a second he let himself ran his fingers across her hand, but then he rapidly moved it back as if her skin burned him. It was stupid, he didn't do things like that. He couldn't let any sentiment rule his head and touching her, looking at Irene the way he was looking at her now, was definitely part of being sentimental. But how could he describe the idea of giving her part of his liver, desperately trying to save her life? He knew it wasn't only about keeping his promise and being an honorable man. There was more, much more, and part of Sherlock's consciousness was aware of that, even though the man like Sherlock Holmes would probably never admit it. Irene Adler, in all her devilish manner and the ability to twist people around her finger was probably, after Moriarty, the most dangerous person he'd ever approached. Not because she was a lunatic killing people for her own purposes (she didn't do that, or at least he hope she didn't), but because, as he'd recently realized, she had an unusual charm that, in some way, worked even on Sherlock.

For man like the great detective beauty was only the societal construct, the abstract idea to which he'd never paid much attention. He never considered people in categories of beauty and ugliness, rather perceived them as ordinary, oblivious and stupid or highly intelligent, with minds almost as bright and great and his own, such as Mycroft, Moriarty and, what was hard for him to admit at the beginning, Irene Adler. Obviously, he was able to notice that in other aspects she was definitely different from other people or, more specifically, women he'd ever encountered. He could appreciate the beauty of the night sky or the extraordinary painting, but human appearance was worth his attention only when it could tell him something about the person. Right now he was looking at her with a feeling like she was someone completely different. Her face was calm, deep asleep, deprived of any make-up, vulnerable in the face of his observatory skills, but there was nothing to deduce. In this case the only deduction that was left to make was the one concerning himself and Sherlock Holmes was more than aware that he couldn't run away from that for all his life. Sooner or later, he would have to face himself, look in the mirror and try to find the answer to one, seemingly simple question – 'Who was Sherlock Holmes?'. The detective behind the deerstalker. The man, who had the answer to every question. The man, who for all his life hadn't considered himself to be a human being, but rather a breathing and thinking machine, deprived of any basic needs and impulses. He knew this wasn't really who he was, but how he'd made himself in the long process of learning and raising and falling and convincing himself and everyone else around that deep under the skin and bones there was no beating heart. And he still believed, although his faith was getting weaker with every move and every second, as he stared at the woman laying in bed realizing, that all he'd just done was dictated not by his mind but this non-existent heart. And he was going to believe until the very end, because no one, not even Irene Adler, could make him let his guard down and become this pathetic, ordinary man driven by his impulses. No matter how tempting all of this was. Paradoxes, that what ruled his head in this very moment, when he was constantly denying his own words and thoughts.

He stood there for couple more minutes, just looking at her, trying to gather his thoughts and clean the mess she'd made, when he felt that the morphine was slowly stopping to work, as he gradually started to feel the pain from his wound. It struck him suddenly and he groaned quietly, looking down at his stomach and seeing dark red stain of blood on his shirt. Sherlock took a deep breath and looked at Irene for the last time, leaving her room and knowing it was time to get back to his own.

As he left the room a young doctor approached him, apparently noticing the blood on his shirt.

'Are you fine?' he asked, but before the detective managed to answer him, he heard someone calling his name. He raised his head and saw his doctor walking towards him.

'Mr Hegedűs, what do you think you're doing here?' the man was mad, but when he saw the blood and looked at Sherlock's face, pale and twisted with pain, he let go of the annoyance and seemed truly worried 'Oh God, someone give me a wheelchair, now!' his words were the last one Sherlock heard before he lost his consciousness and fell down to the floor.


	9. Chapter 9

_Here's the new chapter, hope you enjoy it! There will be about three more chapters, but I'm still in the process of writing them, so it might take some more time. But don't get discouraged, I'll be still updating the story!_

 _I've also started writing another story and have the idea for one more, but at the same time I currently suffer from the writer's block and have some university essays I have to write, so I have no idea when I might publish anything more!_

 _Anyway, thank you again for all the reviews and generally for reading, it really means a lot and every kind word makes my day and brings a smile to my face!_

* * *

Chapter 9

The loud, annoying buzzing woke Sherlock up. He opened his eyes and tried to locate the source of the noise, feeling his head aching. He looked around and pressed the morphine button, then realizing the buzzing came from his mobile phone. He picked it up and saw Mycroft's name on the screen.

 _'_ _Hello, brother'_ the older Holmes greeted Sherlock, but the detective didn't say anything _'I believe you want to explain yourself?'_

'Not really. What do you want, Mycroft?'

 _'_ _Ask how you feel. I'm just concerned'_ Sherlock could hear the amusement in his brother's voice

'I highly doubt that. How do you know?'

 _'_ _Don't you think I have people watching you, Sherlock?'_

'Of you course you have' Sherlock mumbled disgruntled

 _'_ _What happened?'_

'It's none of you business' the younger Holmes snapped and one more time pressed his morphine button.

 _'_ _I believe it is, when it involves my younger brother wandering off his path and spending time with Irene Adler. How is she involved?'_

'Like I said, none of your business'

 _'_ _Stop it, Sherlock! Isn't she supposed to be de- in America?'_ Mycroft hesitated, remembering the story John had told Sherlock about Irene.

'Well, apparently not. Why do you even care?' Sherlock chuckled, knowing that, until know, Mycroft had had no idea Irene Adler was alive.

 _'_ _You know well how dangerous she is, I need to protect the interest of my country'_

'Do you really believe she's dangerous? She's unconscious, Mycroft, and even if she wasn't she had nothing that could threaten you. Just leave her alone'

 _'_ _I see… You're excellent at protecting your girlfriend, Sherlock'_

'She's not my girlfriend' the detective answered with voice full of disgust.

 _'_ _My people say something completely different. Why did she stay in your room last night?'_

'It's not like that' Sherlock said, getting more and more annoyed. At the same time he felt like it was a déjà vu, like he'd said it before.

 _'_ _Then how is it, Sherlock?'_ Mycroft answered just as he'd imagined him to. Sherlock sighed loudly and could almost see his brother's face in this exact moment. Disappointed, but not surprised _'Oh, Sherlock. You really do lo-'_

'I don't, you're wrong'

 _'_ _You know I'm never wrong'_

'Well, maybe this time, first time in your life, you finally are' Sherlock finished and hung up, knowing he didn't mean not loving Irene. There was something Mycroft was wrong about, but it definitely weren't Sherlock's feelings, although Sherlock still wasn't ready to admit it, not to himself and especially not to his older brother.

A week had passed, in which Sherlock had gotten over the fact that he would have to start his work on Moriarty's network all over again and, luckily, had cured himself enough to be able to get out of bed without the risk of another injury and leave the hospital. Irene had been moved out of the ICU and he could see her without the necessity of breaking in. She was stable, she was breathing on her own, but she was still unconscious, although some nurses had noticed the slight movement of her hands. As much as Sherlock enjoyed sitting in her room and watching her when she was in such a vulnerable position, completely different from what he'd seen before, he also couldn't stand being in one place all the time. The nurses and doctors were driving him crazy with their comments about how much he cared about his _fiancée_ and that she was a _lucky girl_ to have a man like Sherlock. Yes, she was lucky, she was still alive thanks to him, but that was it. She didn't own him, or at least Sherlock believed she didn't. That was why Sherlock decided not to sit idly by her bed all day and instead found himself some cases just to keep his mind going and busy with something that didn't necessarily concern Irene Adler. He disappeared for the whole day to come back in the evening and spend the night in uncomfortable chair by the hospital window. Not because he wanted to or felt somehow attached to her, but because she was still in danger and he preferred to make sure he wasn't putting her in any more risk that he'd already had. He really hoped she would wake up soon because he was getting terribly bored.

Two weeks after the unfortunate _accident_ Sherlock found himself, once again, standing in her room, face towards the window, being sick of the whole situation. All the cases were solved and he didn't have anything else to do or anywhere else to go. The detective was wondering why he hadn't just left Budapest long time ago. Irene Adler was no longer his responsibility, he'd obliged to save her, not to take care of her while she was laying unconscious and completely useless in a hospital bed. But then, something kept him there, the same power that had made him let her stay in his room and agree to help her with her quite unusual situation, so he stayed. Sherlock wasn't quite sure if he regretted it or not. Every day of delay mad him walk away more and more from coming back home, to London, and getting his old life back. It had only been nearly a year since he'd faked his own death but he'd already missed all that he'd left behind. Being there with her dragged him away from his original aim. She was like an anomaly that had appeared so suddenly and had thrown his whole world upside down, at the same time making years of exhausting research completely invalid.

With his thoughts drifting away from the hospital room, he barely noticed the quiet noise coming from Irene's bed. When he realized that something had broken the silence, disturbed only by the buzzing of medical equipment, he quickly glimpsed at her, almost immediately turning his head back to the window.

'You're here' she pointed out with weak, husky voice. It took her a moment to put together facts about what had happened recently and adjust herself to the completely new situation she found herself in. She had no idea how much time had passed. Her only memory was of her laying on the cold floor, feeling terrible pain, before everything had gone completely dark.

'You're awake' Sherlock responded shortly as he passed her a glass of water without even looking at her and then turned back to the window. She turned her head slightly to look at his back and studied his figure for a moment. She tried to sit up in her bed, but trying to move she could still feel a little bit of pain, not only in her stomach but also other parts of her body, as she'd been laying without any possibility to move for two weeks 'Don't try to move, you're condition still isn't perfect' the detective warned her with calm and distant voice.

'Yes, thanks for that, by the way' the woman grunted, resting her head on the soft pillow.

'If you want to blame someone for your condition, you should probably look in the mirror' he said, clearly angry and slightly out of temper. Usually he didn't care about things like that, but he'd risked his own life to save her, not to mention throwing away all of his plans, and he could definitely appreciate some gratitude.

'You almost killed me'

'I _saved_ you' Sherlock clinched his teeth and closed his eyes, trying to control himself. He knew she wasn't worth it. Not only saving, but staying, waiting until she woke up, _caring,_ even subconsciously and only a little.

'You call stabbing someone and putting them into a coma saving?' Irene mocked him, watching his back. She could notice how suddenly his muscles got more tense under his jacket and in his reflection in the window she could see his clinched jaw and eyes stuck in some point in front of him.

'I didn't have a choice. And you weren't in a coma, you were just unconscious' the detective grinded out slowly, feeling more and more outraged with her attitude. All of a sudden, nothing else mattered. Not the fact that they had slept together twice, that she'd been so brilliant at the crime scene, that they'd had a nice time eating dinner together and that for a brief moment he'd been enraptured by the way she'd looked in that black dress, how she'd moved next to him and how perfectly she'd fitted into his arms, when they'd gotten a chance to dance. It didn't matter that he'd gotten carried away by the ephemeral moment when he had leant in to kiss her, when the string quartet had been playing a soft melody in the background. It didn't suit him. It wasn't Sherlock Holmes everyone knew and although he might have tried to explain himself that in Budapest he wasn't Sherlock Holmes anymore, he knew this would never work. And, most of all, it wasn't the Sherlock Holmes he enjoyed. Nothing had changed, everything he'd ever thought about feelings, sentiments, love and desire were completely true and even though he couldn't deny that the moment of physical intimacy between them was _pleasurable_ , he knew it was just his body reacting in a certain way that every other body would react, and that he couldn't really control it. His mind, on the other hand, was something completely different and he had no doubt that all of this was unnecessary.

'Of course you didn't' he heard her voice and got hold of an impression that she slightly changed her attitude towards the case. And, in fact, she did. She noticed that, apparently, Sherlock treated all of this seriously and while she tried to hide from him how grateful she really was, this actually made him even more angry 'I know you would never chose me over John. You took your chance and hoped for the greatest outcome' Irene continued, trying to gain his full attention, but he still wasn't looking at her. She got rid of her mocking voice and changed it to soft and calm one, quite unusual for her. The whole situation was quite unusual and she actually believed Sherlock deserved some appreciation for what he'd done, although she obviously didn't know everything about what had happened after she'd lost her consciousness 'Sherlock, you don't have to feel guilty. I am alive' Irene added after quite a long brake, filled with an uncomfortable silence between them.

'Good, because I don't' he answered finally, not sure if he was lying or not. It was hard for him to recognize his own feelings at that exact moment, as just a few minutes ago he'd almost assured himself that all of this didn't matter at all.

'So why don't you even look at me?' the woman asked suspiciously and the gentle smile appeared on her lips. Her question settled over both of them, filling the air and making it vibrate with an anticipation, while Sherlock tried to gather his thoughts, feeling how with every passing second the silence between them was getting more and more uncomfortable, probably giving Irene some misleading information about what was happening in Sherlock's brain. Finally he sighed deeply and for a moment closed his eyes. Then he took a deep breath and, not knowing what to expect, turned to look at her. For a brief second she could see in his eyes the expression very different from what she'd ever seen in him, but then it disappeared as soon as it appeared, giving space to this familiar emptiness of his cold, blue eyes. Despite that, she'd noticed this quick change and it made her stomach clench painfully in some unknown feeling.

'I'm sorry' he said finally and realized that this word didn't suit him at all, as he sounded very uncomfortable saying it out loud. Irene could tell he was surprised with his own words and decided to use it against him.

'I've never heard Sherlock Holmes apologize before' she said in a teasing voice, smiling a little bit more.

'Then better remember this moment because it will never happen again' he said, trying to distant himself from what had just happened. Soon it would be over, he was telling himself, soon he would, once again, be himself and he wouldn't have to be worried about what Irene Adler was doing to his brilliant mind. And she was doing a lot.

'But it's completely unnecessary, save it for some other time you really will have to apologize' she grinned at him, but Sherlock just stood still, without changing his face. Irene sighed, knowing that, apparently, during her unconsciousness he'd gotten back to being himself. Or maybe he'd never changed and every little gesture she'd noticed had been just a creation of her imagination?

Irene wanted to say something more, but just as she opened her mouth the nurse entered the room, smiling to both of them.

'Oh, you're awake! You're fiancé must be really pleased, he was really looking forward to it!' the woman seemed overjoyed to see them both talking and Irene being finally awake.

'She doesn't speak Hungarian' Sherlock informed the nurse and turned back to the window, putting his hands into pockets of his trousers. The woman smiled at Irene and repeated what she'd said in English. Irene glimpsed at the detective surprised and clearly amused.

'Really?'

'Oh yes, on the first day he broke into the ICU just to see you and got himself badly injured'

'Injured?' Irene didn't know what the nurse was talking about, and at the same time Sherlock, listening to their conversation, got all tensed having a bad feeling about where the whole thing was heading.

'Yes, he ruptured his stitches and lost some blood. He's really a hero, this fiancé of yours. Not only was he clever enough to leave the knife inside the wound, but he offered to give you his liver. I wish every man was like that…' the woman sighed and Irene smiled at her, suddenly feeling that her mouth got really dry and her heart was beating a little faster. She had no idea that Sherlock gave her his liver and he, on the other side, really wanted to keep this a secret. Now she knew the reason he'd been so annoyed when she'd mocked him about saving her life 'You should really hold on to this guy. He seems to be a good man, although he could definitely use some more entertainment' the nurse laughed and Irene followed her, although her thoughts were somewhere else. As soon as the nurse had left the room, Irene looked at Sherlock, knowing that he would never say anything first.

'You really _did_ save me' she said slowly, a little shocked with what he'd done for her. When he still didn't say anything, she decided to continue 'Well, thank you, then. I bet you expect something in return?' her voice sounded official and professional, as if they were making some kind of a business agreement.

'Like what, part of your internal organ, for example?' he laughed, but it was more bitter than warm and sweet.

'No, I mean… It's second time you did this, I expect you deserve something, especially after _this_ '

'Remember I can count. Just because I did what I did doesn't mean we need to discuss this. Is being alive not enough for you?'

'Fine. Whatever you want' Irene had no idea which version of Sherlock she liked better. He'd surprised her with some definitely unexpected gestures towards her, and as much as she enjoyed being that close to Sherlock Holmes, she also liked the way he behaved, how he was oblivious to some things concerning strictly human nature, how he tried to distant himself form everything that concerned, for example, caring for other people. He didn't have to say that, but she knew that, deep down, he actually was able to care. If not about her, then about other people for whom he'd sacrificed his career and a good name in London. He had his own, specific way of expressing emotions, not with trivial, empty words, but quite unusual gestures, like jumping off hospital roofs or donating his liver. This thought made Irene smile a little, knowing he couldn't see it anyway. This was Sherlock Holmes she knew and, what is more, liked. The one she'd met first in London, who had definitely managed to unlock something more than just her phone, who had gained her whole attention and then, unexpectedly, had shown up to save her life when she'd least expected it. She didn't need him to look at her, to act nice, hold her hand while she was laying in her bed. She could stand his changing moods, excitement after finding a valuable clue and the way he sometimes looked at her impressed, and then turned his eyes knowing that she noticed. The things that she loved most about the great detective were probably the one that annoyed most people, but she wasn't like them. She knew how to defeat him without him realizing that and that gave her power not to be afraid or ashamed of his presence.

'You're leaving?' Irene asked surprised while after a couple minutes Sherlock put his coat on and headed through the room towards the door.

'Yes, I still need to finish my work' he stopped without looking at her.

'Are you going to just leave me here?'

'I kept my promise. I saved you, what else do you expect from me?' Sherlock pointed his eyes on her. He had nothing else to offer her and she shouldn't have required from him anything more.

'Take me with you' she proposed, looking at him with a challenging expression in her blue eyes.

'No'

'Why not? It'll be fine'

'No, it won't'

'Why not?'

'Because you've just almost bled yourself to death, you had a liver transplant and it'll take time for you to fully recover. You won't keep up and you will be an unnecessary burden for me.'

'Fine, take me anyway. My body might be weak, but my mind still works as well as usual. I might help you'

'It doesn't work like that, I don't just sleep in fancy hotels and go to the charity balls. Sometimes I disappear for weeks, I track people, I kill them, I hide in places where no one can find me. You'll be useless'

'Okay, then I'll stay in fancy hotels and wait for you until we'll have to move. You know I have nothing left. I'm officially dead, again, I have no place to live and no people to turn to. You are the only person who knows I'm still alive' she looked desperate and Sherlock could understand that. She couldn't trust people she'd met after he'd faked her death first time anymore. But it was impossible for him to take her with him, not because he was worried she was able to, sometimes, distract him from his work, but because she would be a useless baggage he would have to carry around. He sighed and took out his phone to text something quickly.

'I'll have you moved to some place safe tonight. You'll get the new identity, new house, new contacts. Try not to waste it this time' he said and tied his scarf around his neck.

'Where?'

'Iceland, you'll be safe there and I know some people who owe me a favor' Irene didn't ask why he had _friends_ on Iceland, nor did she try to argue with him. She knew better than this that in some cases there was no way to win with him, as he could be terribly stubborn. Without saying anything more Sherlock opened the door and was about to leave, when her voice stopped him.

'Will I see you again?'

'Take care of my liver' the detective answered and a gentle, mysterious smile appeared on his lips, although the woman couldn't see it as he put up his collar and disappeared outside the door of her room.


	10. Chapter 10

_Long time no see... I am really really sorry that I kept you all waiting for so long, but honestly I haven't been doing well and just couldn't really sit, edit the chapter and post it! But I'm back, there are two more chapters left, because I decided to cut it short and focus more on the next story. I'm not going to give up too much information about that, but there will be some crime solving included. And other things as well._

 _Anyway, before you start reading the chapter, here's a quick disclaimer: forget how the season 3 started, because I completely changed some things (you will definitely notice, because it's quite a big change). For those who don't like it, I'm sorry, it just fitted the story better, for the rest of you I hope you enjoy the ending. And also I'm sorry it's so short, I'm aware of that, but I decided to split it instead of giving you almost 8k words in one chapter (you can expect that the next one's going to be much longer!)_

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Chapter 10

Irene Adler was walking down the snow-capped street of Reykjavik, wearing a thick coat and a woolen scarf, which meant to protect her from cold, Icelandic weather, but in fact seemed to do nothing at all. She honestly hated it, as long as she was used to rainy, cold days in England, the constant snow and temperature below zero degrees was just too much for her, considering the fact that for quite a long time she'd used to live in a slightly warmer climate of Middle East. She probably shouldn't complain at all, as she was the one who put her in this position. Obviously, she hadn't chosen the place of her new residence, but at that time she hadn't really been in the position of making any requests. Australia seemed perfect, though. Or Brazil. But not cold and snowy Iceland, place so distant from, well, everything.

But she was alive and that should really satisfy her, despite the fact that it didn't at all. No, not like she preferred being dead. She definitely enjoyed living and everything that went with that way too much, but she would rather be alive anywhere else in the world. And although, she must have admitted that Reykjavik was such a beautiful place, after almost a year of settling there and finding her way into completely new community she simply seemed _bored_. Not that many things had changed. She was still doing her job, as she couldn't imagine herself being in any other position, but she missed moving across different countries, experiencing different cultures and being constantly on the move. And, to be honest, Iceland didn't have much to offer. Seemingly her life was still the same, she still was Irene Adler, despite that her name had been changed and she'd even managed to learn some Icelandic language while she'd been going through her recovery in one of the best medical clinics in Iceland.

She must have admitted, Sherlock had done a great job with transporting her to Iceland and somehow making sure she'd had everything she could have possibly needed. She'd gotten the best care, nice, modern apartment with the view on the water, complete freedom and assurance, that no one would ever find her. She wasn't sure anyone would look for her anyway. Rasal thought she was dead and there was no one else who could possibly care about her. Once again, she was completely alone in the world, but she wasn't complaining. Long time ago she'd learned to appreciate loneliness, not being attached to another person, having this freedom of doing whatever she wanted and living her life the way she liked it the most. And although she had everything anyone could ever want– her job, money, even some kind of a reputation, she still felt like something was missing. The thrill of the life she'd lead before. The excitement of playing with fire. The rush of adrenaline in her blood, the pounding heart, the mystery of another day. Right now all of this was gone, she was no longer _misbehaving_ , at least not the way she'd used to, and she was getting into a rut. Every day looked exactly the same, the same clients, the same streets of the same city, the same noises of waves hitting the shore, the same screaming of seagulls. Day after day after day for the last year. She was getting sick of all those people, their exaggerated kindness, wide smiles everywhere she looked. She wanted to get out of this bubble Sherlock had put her in, but she knew there was nowhere she could go. She couldn't go back to England, as she was officially dead there, coming back closer to the Middle East she would risk someone seeing her and Irene Adler was more than aware that news traveled fast. Getting her foot back in continental Europe, sooner or later Rasal would find out about her being alive, what would mean only one thing. And this time, she was sure about that, there would be no Sherlock Holmes to save her.

She sighed, passing closed shops of the capital city of Iceland, smiling fake smiles at other people who didn't even know her. Recently even she wasn't sure she knew herself. The woman she saw in the mirror was someone completely different and she didn't really know what to do about this. The woman wrapped her coat tighter around her body, trying to make herself warm and thinking about her flat, a hot bath, comfortable bed, peace and quiet of her own world she'd managed to build in this strange country. The sun had set couple hours ago and the city was lighted by Christmas decorations that no one had bothered to take although it was already almost two weeks after holidays and there was nothing more for her to do this night.

Finally, after a walk that seemed to take her ages, she reached the building and got into the elevator that took her on the top of one of the highest buildings in Reykjavik. That, in fact, wasn't that hard to achieve, as classic Nordic architecture was rather short and the modern buildings were still being incorporated into the city that seemed to be frozen in time, just the way Irene Adler was.

A pleasant warmth embraced her from the moment she opened the door, taking her coat and shoes off. Almost immediately she headed towards the bathroom and run herself a bath in order to warm herself up after a long walk during the cold, January night.

After celebrating this New Year's Eve with some friends she'd made during her stay she felt really tired. She'd left the restaurant earlier, excusing herself with a terrible headache, but she knew that this hadn't been the case. Instead of taking a cab back to her flat, she'd decided to walk all the way there, knowing she would get cold, but this time it hadn't really bothered her. Her thoughts were busy with something else, something that'd had been bothering her for a couple of days so that she'd had to cancel some clients, not feeling like spending time with other people. It wasn't until she got out of her bath and in a silk robe stood in front of her window, looking at the sky covered in fireworks, when she realized the cause of her distraction. It'd been exactly one year. One year since she'd showed up in the hotel lobby hoping that, once again, Sherlock Holmes would save her life. And, in fact, he had.

Thinking about this right now, she felt pathetic. Coming to him, almost begging for his help, and then feeling disappointed when he'd left. She didn't know what she'd expected from him. Keeping in touch? Visiting her in a place he'd sent her to? She knew Sherlock, she knew how he was and she was more than aware that none of this really suited him. He may have done a lot for her, maybe even out of the specific sentiment, but she knew more than anything that this had never meant anything. They had history, probably not the best one, but definitely the one worth remembering, but Irene Adler was sure they didn't have the future. They were both so different, and at the same time so similar. And yet, knowing all of this, she couldn't help this tightening in her chest, the sudden, elevated beating of her heart when the memory of the New Year's Eve one year ago in Budapest visited her completely uninvited. She was wondering what he was doing right now. And what he was thinking. Or, more specifically, if he was thinking about her.

The sound of fireworks drowned out three single gunshots fired from a gun held by Sherlock Holmes himself. He lowered it slowly, with his face devoided of any expression, looking at the male body laying in front of him. His face was covered in bruises and cuts, of which some where bleeding. His white shirt was no longer white, covered in blood, mud and sweat, as he'd been running through the woods, hunting the last, probably the most important member of Moriarty's network. It had taken him a while to hunt him down and to get to him close enough. When he had almost gotten away, Sherlock had been mad, as he couldn't have imagined starting his work all over again. He'd already been behind, after what had happened in Budapest he'd been forced to track some of the members of his worst enemy's network once again, while he could have been going after Moran straight away. And facing the possibility of going through this again, at the same time drifting away from coming back to London, he just hadn't been able to stand and watch how his last target had been running away. So he'd run after him, at the end getting into a fight in the middle of the forest somewhere in Ukraine in the middle of the winter, resulting in bruises, cuts, scratches and a dislocated shoulder, but also dead Sebastian Moran laying on the cold ground. He was his ticket back home. When he'd left England almost two years ago he'd known that killing him would be his pass to go back to London, to get his old life back and clear his name after everything that had happened. And, honestly, Sherlock was delighted, although his whole body hurt terribly. He smiled slowly, putting his gun into the pocket of his coat, brushing the blood of his face and slowly walking away, leaving the body in the forest with three growing stains of blood on his shirt. This part of his life was officially closed. He was finally able to take a deep breath and enjoy the rest of the night before jumping right in the middle of the familiar rush of London.

After a long walk (when he'd been running the distance hadn't seemed to matter) he finally got back to the city. He took a cab back to his hotel room, receiving a suspicious look from the driver, but when he offered him much more money than the drive was originally worth, the man agreed to take him wherever he wanted to go. And right now he had only one destination, as he'd never dreamt so much about laying down on the bed and giving his body a rest.

As soon as he walked into his room his phone started buzzing annoyingly. Sherlock sighed, knowing exactly who it was.

 _'_ _Is it done, brother?'_ he heard Mycroft's voice, calm as usual. Always one step ahead of him.

'Yes' the detective answered perfunctorily, with one hand unbuttoning his shirt, or rather what'd left of it, and looking at his wounds.

 _'_ _Good. See you at home, then. Happy New Year'_ Sherlock stopped in the middle of taking bandages and plasters out of the cupboard, together with the bottle of spirit to clear his wounds. He hadn't even realized it was New Year's Eve and almost immediately his thoughts jumped right to the events in Budapest. He shook his head, trying to get rid of these memories and opened the bottle of alcohol.

'Yes, indeed' he managed to answer after a second and hung up, looking at the deepest cut on the right side of his stomach. He didn't know Moran had managed to injure him that bad with the knife he'd had and although Sherlock wasn't a surgeon, that one looked like it needed sewing. But first he needed to fix his shoulder. The detective took a deep breath and held it, then grabbed his arm with a healthy hand and pulled it hard. He screamed in pain and almost immediately heard a loud click, telling him that he'd managed to fix it. Sherlock started breathing heavily feeling the pain radiating from his shoulder. For a second he closed his eyes, knowing that he couldn't just stop, as he was still bleeding from the cut on his stomach. He sighed once again and took a sewing kit, definitely not destined for sewing human skin but he didn't have anything else and he wasn't going to go to the hospital while he was capable of handling this on his own. He cleared the needle with spirit and poured some on his wound. Loud groan of pain escaped his mouth, as his skin felt like it was burning. He took some deep breaths, then taking a sip of the bitter liquid, hoping this would relieve some of the pain he felt. The detective rolled his shirt and put it into his mouth, before he started sewing his wound with his steady hands of a musician.

When he finished he could still feel the pain, but at least he wasn't bleeding anymore. He managed to clear the others, minor scratches and now he could let his mind wander a little bit. The detective stood by the window of his room, looking at dark, starry night, realizing it'd been one year since the events in Budapest, since the meeting with Irene Adler and saving her life. He must have admitted, during this time he'd come back to her with his thoughts once in a while, but for most of the time he'd been busy with work and tried, mostly successfully, avoiding any possible distractions. Right now he had nothing else to do, he was tired and he definitely deserved some rest after all that he'd done. And, surprisingly, thinking about her was in a way really soothing for his mind. Sherlock was thinking about how peaceful she'd looked while she'd been sleeping and how she'd impressed him with her observatory and deducing skills. He then thought about how they'd danced during the charity ball and how, spontaneously, he'd offered to donate her liver in order to save her life, just as he'd promised. He was wondering how she was doing, in her new life in a completely different country. From the distance he'd managed to pull some strings and find her everything she could have possibly needed and was hoping that she was doing just fine. And that, maybe, in that exact moment, she was also thinking about him.

The next morning Sherlock woke up quite early, ready to head off back to England. The private jet Mycroft had sent for him was waiting at the local airport and the detective couldn't really control the thrill of excitement. His old life was waiting for him and soon he would be back at Baker Street, solving crimes with Watson and doing the job he loved more than anything. The thoughts from last night didn't leave his head and as he was getting into the plane he felt a weird tightening in his stomach.

'Good morning, Mr Holmes' the captain came to personally greet the detective. He reached his hand and Sherlock shook it, at the same time being really distracted with his own thoughts 'I presume we're going to London?'

'No' Sherlock turned his eyes from the man, looking through the small window 'Reykjavik' he added after a minute of hesitation, as he sat down in his place, hands clasped under his chin with a small, almost invisible smile on his lips. He knew Mycroft wouldn't be happy about his decision.


	11. Chapter 11

_I promised a longer chapter and here it is! It's a bit cliche, but you know, sometimes you just need things like that to feed your inner fangirl or whatever. Anyway, enjoy this almost 5k words and look forward to one more chapter in this story!_

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Chapter 11

The tap of heels on the floor echoed around the flat as Irene Adler opened the door to her apartment and stepped in, taking her coat off and hanging it by the door. She poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle standing on the kitchen counter and made her way to the bedroom, leaving her bag on the table and taking her shoes off on her way. The woman was about to turn the lights on, when she noticed one unusual thing. In front of her bed, with hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking through the window, stood tall and slender, dark-haired man. Almost automatically corners of her mouth raised up with a little smile, as she stood in the middle of her apartment, looking at an unexpected visitor. For a moment none of them said anything and if she hadn't known better, she would have thought the man didn't notice her presence.

'To what do I own the pleasure' she said finally, making a small pause before she continued 'Mr Sherlock Holmes?' her smile widened, as she enjoyed how his name tasted on her lips. Irene was surprised seeing him in her flat, but she obviously wasn't going to show this to him. Part of her had known that, sooner or later, they would meet again and so it was a rather pleasant surprise to see him again after all the time that had passed. She couldn't say she'd missed him, that wouldn't sound like her. But, in some way, she'd been looking forward to seeing him again, even though she hadn't been sure if this would ever happen. Sherlock Holmes was… special. If someone asked her, she didn't know how to describe their relationship. They definitely weren't friends, nor were they enemies. Lovers? That word seemed to vast, considering they hadn't seen each other for the whole year. She slowly realized that there was no definition to explain who they were. Two people who, in some weird, unexplained way had some kind of a chemistry, attraction or tension between them which, even after a great amount of time, was still clearly visible. Even when they weren't talking or, as in this case, looking at each other, as Sherlock still didn't turn from the window.

'I was just working' his voice didn't change and was still as cold and emotionless as she remembered it. If Irene hadn't known him better, she would have thought that he actually had _just been working_ and just _accidentally_ had broken into her flat while she'd been out having dinner. But, actually, she knew him, maybe even better than anyone else. Sometimes she was even able to see right through him and, because of everything that had happened in Budapest, she had some reasonable proof to think that he cared about her, even if he himself wasn't aware of it. And that he wanted to see her, whatever his reasons were.

'Mhm, of course you were' she said in a teasing voice, letting him know that she didn't believe him. Maybe he was a good liar, but he couldn't lie to her.

'Don't be flattered' Sherlock spitted and turned around 'I'm not here for you' the man looked at her, trying to gather his own thoughts. The truth was that he had no idea what he was doing there. This morning in Ukraine he'd made a spontaneous decision and when he'd gotten out of the plain in Reykjavik he'd thought he'd made a mistake. But it'd been already too late to turn back. He'd known she'd been somewhere there and this thought had made it hard for him to actually regret it. So he'd been watching her leaving her apartment in the morning while she'd went pick up some groceries, he'd waited until she'd left her flat to brake in and wait for her, not knowing how to explain his presence. There was no reasonable cause of showing up in Reykjavik which definitely wasn't on his way to London. He just felt like doing it. He felt like she was the only person he wanted to see before he would be back amongst the living. Like she was the only one he wanted to share the last night of being dead with. It was ridiculous because he didn't do things like that. Sherlock Holmes didn't get attached to people the way he'd gotten attached to her. It felt wrong, it was against everything he'd ever believed in, but at the same time it also felt so right. She felt right, standing barefoot in front of him, with a specific sparkle in her eyes and a mysterious smile on her lips. He couldn't help himself but think that maybe he'd done a right thing with saving her that day. Not for her, but for him.

'And yet you're here. In _my_ flat' she smiled and made a few steps, stopping closer to the detective and looking him in the eyes 'Why, Mr Holmes?' once again, saying his name out loud felt so good. Seeing him felt good, almost like coming home after a long day at work. He challenged her in every possible way and that was exactly what she'd been missing.

Sherlock didn't know how to answer her question. He was confused, he'd never done anything without any reason. He'd always known why he'd been doing some things, but with her it seemed like nothing really mattered. He was still himself, but at the same time he couldn't recognize the man that made this decision, that though it was actually a good idea to come to her apartment. All he knew was that he didn't have the answer for her. And she knew that as well, as she smiled even more and reached her hand to slide her finger down his cheek and then across his jaw, touching the cuts covering his soft skin. For a moment Sherlock felt like his skin was burning under her touch. He'd never been used to touching or being touched. He'd always tried to isolate himself from people and limit every possible form of contact to minimum. And again, with her this was also different. He didn't mind that, although at the beginning it felt weird and uncomfortable.

'You don't know, do you?' she said when Sherlock didn't answer her question. All this time he was just watching her, following her eyes, analyzing the movement of her lips while she was speaking. He tried to find any reasonable excuse, but the only thing seemed rather stupid and trivial, so he thought it was better to stay quiet and let her figure it out herself. Although she'd already done that 'Can I get you anything?' Irene asked and turned from him going back to the kitchen. She took a sip of wine and Sherlock followed her with his sight, noticing how her lips touched the edge of the glass, leaving the print of lipstick. The man shook his head and followed her to the other side of the apartment which meant to serve as living room, but that didn't really matter as there were no walls separating rooms, except the toilet. Even shower was separated from the rest only by the glass wall.

The woman sat on the couch and observed Sherlock as he stood in front of her, once again looking outside the window. Normally it would bother her that he wasn't really talkative, as it was him who arranged their meeting, but she was used to that.

'So how's your work?' she asked eventually, sipping her wine and trying to get him to say anything. She didn't need him to explain himself. The fact that he couldn't find any words to answer her previous question spoke for itself. He was confused and he definitely hadn't planned coming there. But Irene was glad anyway, even though he didn't seem like he enjoyed her company.

'It's done'

'Done? It means that you're…' Irene raised her eyebrows and put her glass down on the table.

'I'm going back to England, yes' she caught him. She got her reason for his visit and this made her stomach clinch as she realized that he came all the way here from wherever he'd been to see her before he would officially be alive again. She stood from her seat and went back to the kitchen to get another glass of wine. On her way back to Sherlock she picked her own and stood behind him.

'Well, that's a pretty good reason to celebrate' on the sound of her voice the detective turned around and got surprised by how close she was.

'Celebrate what?' he asked taking the glass from the woman and looking her in the eyes. She was smiling all this time and he knew exactly what she meant.

'It's your last night being dead' Irene made another step so now they were only millimeters apart. She was a lot shorter than Sherlock so she had to raise her head to look at him when they were standing so close to each other, but he could still feel her warm breath on his cheeks 'Any wishes?' Irene whispered teasingly and touched their glasses, taking another sip without breaking the eye contact. Hesitantly, Sherlock followed her move and felt like the alcohol warmed his body from the inside.

'Not really' he answered, taking his eyes from her face. Irene sighed and put her glass on the table.

'I don't want to sound rude, but you can't just appear here out of the blue and then behave like this' she said with a casual voice. Sherlock raised his eyebrows surprised, not knowing exactly what she meant.

'Behave like what?' she could hear a challenge in his voice and smiled a little.

'What happened to your face?' Sherlock felt relieved with her question. Finally the one he knew the answer to.

'I got into a fight with a man from Moriarty's network. Before I killed him' he said that so easily, like killing a man didn't mean anything at all. Well, she shouldn't be surprised. She'd seen him doing this without any hesitation. She'd felt him killing her, although she couldn't remember if he'd been just as calm and steady then as he'd been in Karachi.

'How did you kill him?' her eyes were shining in the darkness as she asked this question and something about this look made Sherlock's head spin.

'I shot him, three times in his chest' the detective answered 'How did you kill Rasal's brother?' he asked after a second, realizing that he'd never had the opportunity to find out. Irene stood there for a moment, just looking at the man and for the first time not knowing what to say. The memories of that one night back somewhere in the Middle East struck her. They weren't pleasant ones, more like the ones she would never want to think about again. She remembered the smell of the alcohol when he'd entered her bedroom, saying he'd known what she'd been doing and that he wouldn't have told anyone if only she'd given him something he'd wanted for a long time. He'd come closer and closer and she'd moved back until she'd felt the edge of the bed with her suitcase on it behind her. He'd been drunk, what had made him even more unpredictable and dangerous, and she'd had nowhere to run when he'd put his arms around her and tried to pull her closer to kiss her. She'd tried to push him away, but he'd been too strong, so instead she'd reached back and took the knife from her bag, stabbing him into his stomach, when things had started getting out of control. Shocked, she'd taken the knife out and had watched him bleed out, with hands covered in blood. When she'd run away, she'd been washing her hands for hours, trying to get rid of his blood even though it'd been no longer there. Even now, sometimes, she could still feel it, the warm, dark red liquid covering her hands. It'd been the first time Irene Adler had ever killed anyone and even though she usually was strong, this had left some kind of a scar on her mind.

It took her a moment to respond and even though Sherlock noticed that something had changed in her expression, he didn't say anything, not knowing what it was exactly.

'I stabbed him' she said after a while and her voice, just as her eyes, seemed empty. Somehow Sherlock knew it wasn't the thing she wanted to talk about.

'I'm sorry' he said a little confused, not knowing what else he could say. He wasn't used to situations like this one and he certainly didn't expect her to react this way. When Irene laughed, Sherlock frowned being even more surprised with this gesture.

'Second time, Sherlock, you're getting weak' she joked and when he raised his eyebrows not knowing what she meant, the woman rolled her eyes 'In Budapest you told me I would never hear you apologize again, and here you are' she explained, before she continued 'There's nothing to be sorry about, it happened. He wasn't worth anything more than that anyway' she shrugged her shoulders gently and moved closer to the detective 'But, I suppose, you're not here to talk about this' she changed her tone to more teasing one, taking the glass from him and leaving it on the table. She then unbuttoned the first button of his shirt, observing his reaction carefully. When he did nothing at all, she moved to another one, with a smile slowly appearing on her lips. By the fourth one Sherlock grabbed her wrists and held it back, stopping her from moving any further.

'Oh come on, Sherlock' she leaned in and gently brushed his lips with hers 'Don't tell me that's not why you're here' she looked at him provocatively. Sherlock let go of her wrists and moved away from her, walking back to the window. He had no idea why he'd come. A long time ago he'd promised himself that she hadn't meant anything to him. And although he hadn't managed to completely keep his mind of all the things that had ever happened between them, he wasn't sure if he wanted them to happen again. He knew he was able to control himself and, what is more, he was able to focus even with the picture of her visiting his mind, together with the smell of her perfume, the sound of her voice and the touch of her skin. He could push this thing away when he needed to work, just as he'd been doing for the last year, chasing the ghost of his past in order to save his friends and make it possible to come back to England. Yes, she _was_ a distraction, but so were noises of the street, annoying talking of Anderson close to the crime scene or Mrs Hudson walking around his flat, complaining about the mess he'd used to leave after himself. These were all distractions, at some point, and she wasn't any different. But Sherlock knew it wasn't as much about that as it was about the fact that she'd used him before to get some information. She'd outsmarted him, using her biggest virtues and finding that, at some point, she'd become his pressure point. He wouldn't say he was scared that she might do this again, but something was telling him to remain cautious around her.

'I fact it's not. I came here to see you' Sherlock admitted finally with his face turned towards the window. He leaned one hand on the cold glass and rested his hand on his arm, closing his eyes. Suddenly he felt really tired, as if the sleepless night during his constant run through the whole year suddenly hit him.

'You see me. But this night doesn't have to end just on looking' she smiled and gently slid her hand down his arm. Sherlock clinched his jaw and groaned a little, as his arm still hurt after he'd dislocated it the day before 'You're fine?'

'Yes, it was just dislocated' he said and straightened, reaching into his pocket and taking out a box of cigarettes 'Do you mind if I smoke here?' Sherlock asked, but without waiting for any response he put it between his teeth and lighted the lighter.

'Actually, I do' Irene answered angrily and before he managed to light the cigarette, she took it out of his mouth and turned around, moving closer to the table 'What do you want, Sherlock?' the detective looked at her surprised, as he put the lighter back to his pocket. The woman crossed her arms on her chest and looked at him expectantly.

'I've already told you'

'Yes, you were working. You wanted to see me. But why?' Sherlock sighed. He was sure Irene knew the answer to her own question, probably better than he, because he was not able to find the right words. Or maybe he didn't want to say all of his thoughts out loud, knowing how embarrassing this would be?

'Oh, you know _why_ ' he started, keeping his calm and emotionless voice, at the same time looking straight into her eyes 'You've always thought you can be as good as I am. You walk around naked to impress people, you're pushing your luck to the extreme, you've almost destroyed my brother...'

'I had some help' she interrupted and grinned at him. He finally interested her, although she might have the idea where he was going with that.

'Then prove yourself. Tell me what you can deduce about the man that no one knows anything about' he stepped closer, evidently giving her a challenge and it dependent on her whether she was going to take it or not.

'Well, now we're talking. Just so you know, you're not as big of a mystery as you think you are, Mr Holmes. At least not for me' she leaned closer, whispering last few words.

'Prove it, Miss Adler' Sherlock challenged her, leaning in. Irene slightly opened her mouth, as if she was expecting he was going to kiss her, but when that didn't happen she looked surprised at the detective, who now was standing in front of her with a glass of wine in his hand. He raised his eyebrows, amused with the look on her face, and waited patiently.

'You are highly intelligent, probably the most intelligent person I've ever met. Well, excluding Mycroft, of course' she started, slowly walking around him, from time to time brushing her fingers on his arm or chest. The detective was following her with his sight, listening her carefully, sipping his wine, but standing still in one place 'But you're also really proud and over confident because of your wide knowledge. For most of your childhood you were looking up to your brother, living in his shadow, always smarter than other kids, but never as smart as Mycroft. He made you feel stupid and sometimes you believed him, didn't you?' she glanced at him, trying to see his reaction, but his eyes couldn't tell her much. Irene knew she was right, not only from what she'd seen, but also from what Moriarty had told her about the Holmes brothers 'I imagine others weren't as impressed by your behavior as you were, they made you feel like a freak. You didn't have a lot of friends, maybe any, so you started isolating yourself from people, trying to hide the fact that no one liked you and soon you believed that this was the better way. Cut down all the feelings, distant yourself from what seemed like a distraction. Feelings made people weak and you knew it, you watched them getting carried away by stupid sentiments, you heard your older brother telling you that there was no place for them in your life if you wanted to be great. And you wanted to, you desired to be like your brother or even better and it seemed easy for you. You were smart, intelligent and brilliant at pushing people away, so focused on your work, never bothered by something as pathetic as emotions' she stopped for a moment, swallowing and looking at his back. She could hear him breathing and she almost knew what he was thinking. Going back to the old days of his childhood, to being back in the shadow of his brother. He'd never gotten out of it, every time Mycroft appeared in his life Sherlock felt the power his brother had over him. Every time he'd helped him get sober, every time he'd taken the cocaine from him and slapped his face Sherlock had known that he'd had one weakness. Something much worse than love, affection or sentiment. Something that, despite all of he'd ever thought, sooner or later, would have killed not only his body, but also his mind. The detective closed his eyes for a second, trying not to think about that part of his life 'But you never felt lonely, didn't you? You found yourself something better than a lover…'

'These are not deductions' Sherlock interrupted her as calm as he could. This time Irene stopped in front of him, raising her eyebrows.

'What?'

'You're not doing any deductions. These are all _facts_. What were you going to say next? That I started taking drugs? That Mycroft had to save me multiple times from overdosing? That I substituted human relations with it because I thought this would make me think better and never cared for consequences? This is all true, but you have to look deeper than this. I know Moriarty told you things about me that my brother was so eager to share with him. But you have to do better than this' the woman knew he was right. Moriarty had told her a lot about Sherlock, she knew about his childhood, the drugs, somehow she even knew about his dog. But she wasn't sure she was able to look beneath all of this.

'You think you know everything, that there is nothing that could be a mystery to you and that nothing can be hidden from you but, in fact, there are some things that are out of the area of your expertise' she continued, deciding not to react to his words. Saying this she stood behind him and took his jacket of, leaving it on the couch 'Like, for example, something as basic as human nature' the last two words Irene whispered right into his mouth, smiling a little.

'I know more about human nature than you think'

'I know you do. But it's just a theory, _facts_. You can say that love is a dangerous disadvantage, but you've never experienced it. You can think that sentiment is a chemical defect, but you've never felt it, until…' Irene smirked and she could tell that she pressed the right point.

'Until what?'

'Should I take your pulse, Mr Holmes?' she asked, as she grabbed his wrist with one hand, putting the other on his chest 'Should I see if your pupils are dilated?' once again she leaned closer and Sherlock could feel her warm breath on his skin, together with the smell of her perfume and the wine 'Or can I use just _facts_?'

'Do as you please'

'Oh, you have no idea what I please right now' the woman whispered into his ear and moved back, leaving all of his senses keen. Somehow he believed that maybe being there with her would help him understand himself better, so then he could overcome all that still was unknown to him. But with every second, her every word and every gesture he wasn't so sure he would be able to. Or rather if he wanted to overcome all of these 'This time you're the one who got carried away. Saving me once was one thing. But doing this again, giving me your liver and then coming here? This is too much, especially for someone like you. But you enjoy this, don't you? You won't let yourself acknowledge it, you won't admit it, but you like it now and you liked it then. Am I right, Mr Holmes?' she smiled at him mockingly, knowing that in fact she was right. She'd never been more right in her entire life, but she wanted to hear him saying this out loud. She wanted to hear his voice, admitting that she wasn't mistaken, that she untangled the mystery of Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, who'd been renouncing any possible feelings for most of his life. It wasn't meant to be the confession of love. She didn't want him to love her, because she herself wasn't sure she was able to love him. Maybe yes, or maybe not, that didn't really matter to her. All that matter was that she managed to pull the string in his heart, she managed to mess with his heart and mind and she'd been doing this since their first meeting, which now seemed so distant, like a faded picture of people they weren't anymore.

'Yes, you are. But it's not what…' Sherlock automatically wanted to explain himself, but before he was able to say anything more she raised her hand and put her finger on his lips.

'I know it's not' she replied, satisfied enough with his answer. The woman clinched her another hand on the material of his shirt, moving the other one from his lips to the back of his head. And, while he didn't oppose, she climbed on her fingers and pressed her lips to his, pulling him closer, closing her eyes and letting herself focus only on this one feeling. At the beginning she could feel how tense he was, but after a second he got used to her touch and eventually managed to relax, wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing her back just as he'd done back in Budapest two years ago. It felt just as good and Sherlock wasn't sure if anything in his whole life had ever felt this way, not cocaine, not the most exciting murder. It was completely different, definitely not better, but certainly enjoyable, although for the whole lot of different reasons. And she, she felt exactly the same way, mostly because for her it was just as new as it was for him.

Just as they were getting used to their lips moving in an almost perfect harmony, their hearts beating in their chests so close to each other, the loud ring tone broke the silence around them. Sherlock was the first to broke their kiss, turning his head a little bit to the right and taking his phone from the pocket of his trousers. He looked at the screen and, just as he'd suspected, saw Mycroft's name on it. Normally he would just ignore his brother again, the way he'd been doing for the whole day, but knowing his brother if he hadn't gotten in touch with him soon, he would have engaged the whole army and secret services to track him. With a loud sigh Sherlock pressed the button and put the phone to his ear. Irene didn't move, still having her arms around his neck and now stroking his skin and the line of his hair with her fingers.

'Hello Mycroft' the detective said blandly, feeling Irene's fingers on his skin and now looking at her, smiling the way only she could smile.

 _'_ _Would you like to explain to me what's so important in Reykjavik that you had to stop there on your way to London?'_ Mycroft was clearly annoyed, but as usually Sherlock rather enjoyed making his older brother lose his temper.

'Not really. I believe it is none of your business'

 _'_ _It is my business, when you're using my plane and my people, Sherlock!'_

'Oh, so you weren't concerned? Thank God, because that would mean that you have some brotherly compassion and I would feel really uncomfortable' the irony in Sherlock's voice was clear and Irene grinned, listening to him talking to his brother.

 _'_ _For goodness sake, Sherlock, I'm not kidding'_

'I know you're not. Do you need your plane and your people right now, or can you wait till tomorrow?' the detective pretended concerned voice, at the same time following Irene's hand, which now was sliding down his chest. He could hear his brother's deep sigh and smiled, knowing he really managed to annoy him. Coming here he'd had no idea that he would get a double pleasure out of all of this.

 _'_ _Sherlock Holmes, could you for once behave like an adult and tell me what are you doing in Iceland?'_

'I'm sorry, brother, I think I'll leave it to your imagination' Sherlock took the phone away from his ear and managed to hear Mycroft saying his name couple of times, before he hung up.

'Big Brother is worried?' Irene asked with an almost devilish smile, as she played with one of the buttons of Sherlock's shirt.

'He has his power complex, when he can't control everything, he gets easily annoyed'

'And you obviously enjoy it'

'Obviously' Holmes put his phone back to the pocket and looked into Irene's eyes. The one he'd seen so many times before, live or in his mind, reminiscing every second they had ever spent together, and after another year there were quite a lot of things to think about. Another night. Another New Year's Eve. Another city. None of them knew how many of them they would have and none of them bothered to think about this. The presence was satisfying enough to occupy all their thoughts.

'Well, I think we were in the middle of something, before your brother interrupted us' Irene unbuttoned another button of Sherlock's shirt, and an inviting, but quite charming smile appeared on her lips, as she looked straight into his eyes.

'Yes, I believe we were'


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The cold, Icelandic wind was dancing in dark, brown curls on Sherlock's hair as he was walking along the covered in snow beach in Reykjavik. Everything around was silent, besides the screaming of seagulls and the sound of the wind causing the waves to hit the shore with a loud, almost terrifying noise. Everything around was dead quiet and empty, just as one would expect early in the morning, while the sun was just rising above the horizon and the whole world was just waking up from the long, winter sleep. But not Sherlock Holmes, the man dressed in a long, black coat, walking slowly through the snow on a footworn lane. From time to time he was raising the lighted cigarette to his mouth, taking the deep inhale of the nicotine, and then exhaling the grey cloud of smoke that slowly disappeared in the air around him. He had a lot to think through and not enough time to do so and he was more than aware of that. He would have lied if he'd said he hadn't thought about all of this before. Of course he had, he couldn't have avoid thinking about it every time he thought about her. And he had, even during this one year he'd sacrificed completely to finding and eliminating Moriarty's network, he had thought about her, because when she'd appeared in Budapest that night, she'd planted a seed in his brain that had been growing bigger and bigger with every single beat of his cold, frozen heart, hidden somewhere deep in his chest just under the layer of skin and bones. What he wanted and what he needed were now two different things and although, for many, there would be no dilemma in choosing one of them, Sherlock Holmes was once again faced with probably the most serious and dangerous mystery – the mystery of his own heart and his own nature.

He really missed the time when everything was plain and simple. Solving crimes in London, being the only one consulting detective in the whole world (although, he was sure, this part hadn't changed), not caring about other things than catching the murderer. He missed his flat at 221B and he even missed John, the simple way his brain worked, the feeling of always being the brilliant one in the room full of oblivious people. Everything had used to be simple, but then she'd come, Irene Adler, the woman, and somehow had managed to do everything far more complicated than it'd actually been. She'd also managed to make him do and, what's more, enjoy things he'd never thought he would do or enjoy. Oh, she was clever and Sherlock knew this. Maybe even more clever than he was, because there he was, walking around Reykjavik after spending another night with her, in her apartment, because he had decided that it was actually a good idea to visit her before coming back to London. But was it really?

Sherlock didn't know and that annoyed him the most, because he was torn between yes and no, between wanting to go back there before she would wake up and just disappearing without a word, taking every possible effort to not see her again, ever. Eventually, he would have to decide, but right now he had some more time. Some time to think, to smoke another cigarette knowing that back in London he would never do this again, to walk around a little bit longer and make up his mind. The mind of a brilliant detective, which now was lost in the face of a case he'd never taken any effort to solve. For some reason he believed that the wind would whisper to his ear the answer he was looking for. Unfortunately, it didn't

Irene Adler woke up in an empty bed and the events of last night seemed just like a dream. A good one, she must have admitted that, but still a dream. Although she was sure this wasn't what it seemed, she could tell the bed sheet smelled like he, she could smell his perfume and feel that the empty side of her bed was still warm, so he couldn't have left so long ago. She wasn't going to look after him, knowing Sherlock Holmes by the time she woke up he could've already been on a plane going back to London. Maybe she was disappointed, but not surprised, just because she thought that maybe this time everything would be different. But she wasn't going to do anything about that, besides going on with her life just like she'd always done. If he was planning to show up again after another year or so, she would probably greet him the same way she had last evening, without getting attached, without getting her hopes up and without actually trying to make him, in some way, stay in her life.

Irene Adler needed no one but herself, and most importantly, she didn't need Sherlock Holmes to be the part of her life permanently. And she was aware that he didn't need her as well. For him, she was like a case, temporary toy that, sooner or later, he would actually get bored of. The fact that, after all this time he still reacted the way he'd reacted when they had first met amazed her, but she knew that the time would eventually come, and he would abandon the thought about the woman. And she? She wouldn't cry and she definitely wouldn't miss him in any way, her life was just as good with him as it was without him.

So that morning she did the only thing that was left for her to do. She got up, took a shower, put on her robe, made some tea, sat on the couch with her legs rolled-up beneath her and watched the sky through the window, changing colours from orange, peach, pink to blue, feeling the way she really didn't want to feel. The hot tea burned her hands when she was holding a cup, but without it she felt cold and empty. It burned her tongue when she tried to drink it, but she couldn't find any other thing to occupy herself and break the emptiness of just sitting and looking and thinking.

Yes, there was a lot of thinking involved, even though Irene Adler had just promised herself not to think, especially not about him. But how could she not do this, when he seemed to be everywhere. Even the fresh bed sheet she had put on the day before now smelled like Sherlock Holmes and she wasn't sure whether she wanted to change it or not. She really wasn't sure about anything and that made her feel incredibly stupid, weak and vulnerable, and she managed to make sure about that, when she heard the silent noise of the front door. Her heart beat a little bit faster, knowing exactly who it was because of the sound of the footsteps on her kitchen floor. She knew it by heart, but it was a shame to admit it out loud how many of those little things she knew and associated only with him. After a second of anticipation she stood up and turned to face Sherlock, who now was taking his coat off. She came closer, leaving the mug on the coffee table. The man smelled like fresh, crisp air, snow, water and cigarettes and at that moment she couldn't think of any better smell.

'Oh, I thought you'd already be on your way back to London' she said, trying to sound as calm as possible, at the same time crossing her hands on her chest.

'You thought I'd left?' the detective sounded a bit surprised, when he raised his eyebrows and untied his scarf.

'Well, yes. You certainly weren't here when I woke up'

'I'm sorry, I needed to smoke'

'You don't have to apologize, I don't really care what you're doing. Not my business, is it?' somehow she wanted him to say that, in fact, from now on it was her business, but she knew this was never going to happen. Whatever this would mean, they both had their own life and usually they didn't really interfere with each other.

'No, not really' Sherlock answered, still standing by the door, not knowing exactly what to do. What did people usually do in situations like that? Should they talk about that? Sherlock definitely didn't want to talk, but he couldn't be so sure about Irene. So he opened his mouth, still thinking about the right words, but this time she was faster.

'Would you like something to drink? Or eat?' she asked, turning from him and walking to the living room area.

'No, thank you. I, um…' he followed her but, again, before he managed to get anything more out of his mouth she interrupted him.

'Well, I suppose you have to be leaving soon' the woman was looking through the window so Sherlock couldn't see the impression written on her face and she was really glad about that.

'Yes, I probably should. Do you want me to leave?' the man asked, not knowing exactly why and what kind of answer he expected to hear. Finally, Irene turned to look at him, and her face was like the reflection of cold and emotionless expression she'd seen in Sherlock before. It took her some time to work on making it look perfect and, what's more, reliable.

'I don't think it matters what I want, Mr Holmes, does it? You always do whatever you find appropriate' Sherlock looked surprised with her reaction and didn't say anything, as he simply couldn't find any words 'Anyway, thank you for stopping by'

'So you do want me to leave, then?'

'Oh, I thought your brother made it pretty clear last night, didn't he?'

'You know well I don't really listen to what my brother says' when the woman didn't say anything, Sherlock made a step closer, yet still keeping the distance between them. 'Irene…'

'Since when do you use my name?'

'What?'

'I've never heard you using my name before. I mean, well, not like this. Doesn't really suit you, does it?' she grinned, because obviously he _had_ used her name before, maybe not fully consciously and in a completely different context, but she could clearly remember it escaping his mouth, as well as how it'd felt when she'd heard it. Sherlock got clearly confused by her words and for a few lingering minutes they were just both looking at each other, surrounded by complete silence, which somehow wasn't really uneasy.

'Well then, I believe it's time for me to get going' Sherlock finally broke the silence, turning from her and walking back to the door. He didn't know what he'd expected to happen this morning. He didn't know how to behave and wasn't sure if, in any way, he'd managed to hurt her feelings, considering she had any. For him, not in general, as obviously he'd seen her scared before, even more than once. Part of him wanted her to stop him, but the other part, the more reasonable one, the same one that previously had whispered to him to stay away from her, wanted him to leave as soon as possible and never look back. In some way Sherlock believed that in London everything would be different. That this city, which he loved more than anything, full of criminals just waiting to be caught, would made him forget completely about the existence of Irene Adler. At the same time he knew this wasn't true. After Karachi he'd never forgotten her, not even for a day, as he had still sometimes played the tune he'd written for her, or _about_ her (usually when John or Mrs Hudson hadn't been around) and sat in his chair just looking at her phone or going through her texts. Irene Adler had always been, and probably would always be, on his mind and inside his heart, no matter if he wanted this or not. He might have been pretending, in front of her, himself and everyone else, that she'd never mattered to him, but yet, as she'd pointed out the night before, he _was_ still there, in her flat, walking slowly to the door, trying to hold himself from turning around and doing… He didn't really know what he wanted to do, but doing anything would have been great. Sometimes it really annoyed him that he wasn't like other people, that this ordinary behaviour, saying goodbye and expressing some kind of weird, unexplained affection, made him feel really uncomfortable. Sometimes he wished he'd been able to just stop being himself for a moment and let himself be someone else. Someone who knew how to say all the things he probably didn't even know existed until it was probably too late to search for the right words. It also amazed him how many things he didn't know when it was about Irene Adler, but at the same time he hated that she made him feel so unsure. John would have probably called it love, Sherlock preferred the term _human error_ and as, for most of his life, he'd thought of himself as of someone deprived of human nature, he wanted to believe that things like love and errors didn't concern him at all.

When he stopped by the door, he put his coat on and tied the scarf around his neck, before finally turning to look at Irene Adler standing behind him. The woman had her arms crossed on her chest and the expression on her face that, even for Sherlock, was difficult to read. She didn't want him to leave and, contrary to the man standing in front of her, she was sure about that. But she also didn't intent to tell him that. This would have been embarrassing, exposing all of her weaknesses in one simple sentence. If he wasn't able to figure all of this out by himself, it was his problem and the woman wasn't going to make it any easier for him. If only she knew how much he would appreciate it, giving him a simple clue, making him think about his own feelings and offering the possibility to finally get them off his chest.

For a few moments none of them knew what to say. They both weren't used to saying 'goodbye', especially not with the whole tension that was present between them. So again, they just stared at each other, both trying to figure out what the other was thinking and how they could make all of this work. Finally, not being able to stand another minute of silence, Irene swallowed and slowly opened her mouth.

'Thank you, Mr Holmes, for paying me a visit' she said, bothering to sound confident as he would have been just a client, not a ghost from her past that appeared suddenly, when she least expected it.

'Pleasure's all mine, Ms Adler' Sherlock answered, looking at her for the last time. Then he put his hand on the door handle, trying to keep his eyes on her as long as possible, before he pushed the door and stepped outside 'Goodbye'

'Wait, Sherlock' her voice stopped him from moving any further. The man turned his face into her direction, but didn't come into the apartment. He raised his eyebrows, waiting to hear what she had to say 'Thank you, for everything. Really. I've never properly thanked you for what you did for me, so…'

'You don't have to thank me. And you did just enough' without saying anything more he turned to the door, when her voice stopped him again.

'Will you keep in touch?' this time the man didn't look at her, just smiled at himself knowing she wasn't able to see it.

'Goodbye, Ms Adler' he said and left, closing the door behind him. Irene stood in her place for a few minutes, looking at the door and thinking about everything that had just happened. The only thing that was left for her to do was to move on with her life, just the way she'd done a year ago.

Couple hours later Irene was sitting on the couch in her leaving room watching the television, but not really focusing on what was on it, when she heard the text alert coming from her phone. It was already dark outside and she thought that, by now, Sherlock was probably already settled back in London with his dear friend by his side, maybe involving himself in another crime. Bored and completely oblivious, she picked up the phone and looked at the message on the screen. It took her a second to read the short sentence, and another for her heart to stop and then start beating a little bit faster than usual.

 _Have a nice evening, Ms Adler – SH_

She read it once again and smiled to herself, almost immediately typing the response.

 _It just got much better. You too, Mr Holmes - IA_

* * *

 _Sooo, here it is! The very end of my very first fanfiction! Thank you everyone for reading, leaving comments, following the story, you have no idea how much it all means to me! Also, I'm sorry to keep you all waiting for another update, it's been very busy and I haven't been in the best place to be honest!_

 _Anyway, thank you one more time! As I said before, I have two ideas for Sherlock/Irene fanfiction and I've already started writing one of them, but as the end of the academic year is so close now, I don't really have time to write. I don't want to promise anything, but there may be something new around may, so stay tuned!_


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